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jhyoos · 14 days ago

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REBEL GIRL

rockstar sevika x influencer reader

Chapter 8 : My Muse

summary : sevika posts her first picture of you and it’s definitely not what you expected.

mentions : funny usernames, modern au, fame au, lesbians being lesbian, sevika attempting to be romantic, kissing and groping

notes : lowkey a filler

chapters : one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight

The next morning, everyone was bustling around the hotel, gathering their belongings and making final checks before heading to the airport. The next stop on your journey was New York City—a place that held so many memories for you, as it was where you were born. You knew what to expect: frigid air, heavy snow, and the kind of chaos only New York could provide.

Once you arrived at the airport, your group made its way through check-in and security with little trouble. You made sure to book first-class seats for everyone, refusing to settle for anything less than comfort on a long flight. Naturally, you ensured you were seated beside Sevika, while Caitlyn, Vi, and Jinx took seats nearby.

As the plane took off, you settled into your seat, opening your laptop to get some work done. You planned to edit photos from your trip so far and the videos Caitlyn had filmed, documenting your adventures. But it quickly became apparent that focus wouldn’t be on the agenda today.

Sevika, seated beside you, had other plans. Every so often, her hand would rest on your thigh, her fingers lightly tracing patterns that sent shivers up your spine. Then, without warning, she’d lean over to press a kiss to your cheek or your neck, her lips lingering just long enough to make your heart race.

You closed your laptop with a soft sigh, placing it on your lap before turning to her. “I can’t focus with you kissing me like that,” you said, your voice laced with mock annoyance but softened by the smile tugging at your lips.

“I know,” Sevika replied, a smirk playing on her face as her hand slid to take the laptop off your lap and tuck it into your bag. “But you’re so hot when you’re focused.”

“You flatter me,” you teased, leaning closer. Before you could say anything else, she cupped your face and pulled you into a deep kiss. Her lips were warm and firm against yours, and you felt yourself melting into the moment. She tilted her head slightly, deepening the kiss as her free hand slid under your shirt, groping your breast with a possessive grip that sent your pulse racing.

You broke the kiss abruptly, glancing around to remind yourself that you weren’t alone. “Sevika,” you whispered sharply, your tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. “We’re on a public plane. You know that, right?”

Sevika chuckled, her hand still resting on your waist as her smirk grew more mischievous. “I’ll fuck you anywhere. I don’t care who’s watching.”

Your eyes widened slightly, heat rushing to your face at her brazen words. “Yeah, well, I do,” you shot back, though your voice lacked the sternness you intended. You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head at her boldness.

“Relax,” she said, her tone softer now as she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m just teasing. But you can’t blame me for wanting to touch you. You’re irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but you couldn’t hide the grin spreading across your face. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips.

As the flight continued, Sevika kept her hands to herself—mostly. Occasionally, she’d brush her fingers against yours or steal a quick kiss, but she behaved well enough to let you get some work done.

The group arrived at the hotel in the early afternoon, each of you excited to settle in before the evening's events. The room arrangements were already decided: you and Sevika shared a suite, Caitlyn and Vi were paired together, and Jinx had her own room. Luckily, she wouldn’t be fifth-wheeling for long, as her boyfriend Ekko was attending school in New York, studying engineering. She had already texted him about meeting up later, her excitement buzzing through the group chat.

When you and Sevika arrived at your suite, she wasted no time. The moment the door shut behind you, her hands were on your waist, pulling you close as her lips latched onto your neck. “Sevika, we just got here,” you laughed breathlessly, but she ignored you, her kisses trailing lower, her teeth grazing your skin as she left a trail of hickeys.

Before you even registered what was happening, Sevika had you undressed, your shirt tossed onto the floor, and your pants swiftly following. Her mouth found every inch of exposed skin, marking you. “Jesus… are you in heat?” you whined, feeling overwhelmed but unable to stop the grin spreading across your face.

“For you? Always,” she said, her voice low and husky as she hovered above you, pinning you to the bed. Her lips found yours, peppering you with soft kisses, one after the other, leaving you dizzy.

You groaned and gently pushed her back, giving her a playful glare. “We went at it all night before we left. I’m exhausted and sticky, Sevika. And don’t forget, you have a concert to practice for tonight.”

Sevika smirked but didn’t argue. “True,” she said, brushing her fingers through your hair. “But I don’t need to practice. You’re my muse.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way her words made your heart flutter. “Shut up,” you muttered, sitting up and swinging your legs off the bed. You stretched, feeling the soreness in your muscles—a testament to Sevika’s stamina—and turned to look at her.

“I’m gonna shower,” you announced, standing up and making your way toward the bathroom. “And no,” you added over your shoulder, already predicting her next move. “You cannot join.”

Sevika raised a brow, her smirk widening as she leaned back against the pillows. “Tease,” she muttered, watching you walk away.

You disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind you with a soft click. Under the warm spray of the shower, you took a moment to gather yourself, the events of the past day—and the past night—still fresh in your mind. Sevika had a way of overwhelming you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, you immediately noticed Sevika sitting on the plush couch in the hotel room, her legs spread casually as she strummed her guitar. It wasn’t plugged in, so the sound was soft, almost like a whisper, but it was still captivating. Her brows furrowed slightly as she worked through a melody, completely focused.

You leaned against the doorway, an oversized sweater draping over you, your damp hair pushed back away from your face. The sight of Sevika like this—relaxed and in her element—brought a soft smile to your lips. She looked up when she noticed you.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice light with curiosity.

“Working,” she replied, continuing to strum as her eyes flicked back down to her guitar. “All of our songs are self-produced, and I help with it.”

You raised a brow, stepping further into the room. “Hm. I thought Vi and Cait were the only ones who produced the songs.”

“Nope,” she replied simply, a hint of pride in her voice.

You walked over and perched on the arm of the couch, watching her hands move effortlessly across the strings. “Don’t you need to practice for tonight?” you asked.

She smirked, glancing up at you briefly before returning her attention to her guitar. “We’ve been performing the same songs for the past few months. I promise. I’ve got it locked down, baby,” she reassured, her voice dripping with confidence.

You hummed, your eyes lingering on her fingers as they danced over the strings. “Can you teach me?” you asked, your tone playful but genuine, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

Sevika looked up at you, her brow quirking in surprise before her lips curved into a grin. “I can teach you a bit,” she said, setting her guitar down momentarily to beckon you over.

You wasted no time, sliding onto her lap as she positioned the guitar in front of you both. Her arms wrapped around you, her calloused hands guiding yours to the right positions on the strings. The warmth of her body against yours made it hard to concentrate, but her calm and steady voice kept you grounded.

“Alright, start here,” she said, placing your fingers gently on the fretboard. “Press down—no, not too hard—and then strum.”

You did as she instructed, laughing softly when the note came out a little buzzy. “Not bad,” she said, her voice low near your ear. “Try again. Relax your fingers a little.”

With her hands guiding yours, she showed you how to play a simple pattern, her patience surprising you. The buzz of the strings turned into clear, sweet notes, and you grinned in triumph.

“There you go,” Sevika praised, her voice carrying a rare softness. She leaned in a little closer, her lips brushing your temple. “You’re a natural.”

“Maybe I should join the band,” you teased, glancing back at her with a playful smirk.

Sevika chuckled, her deep voice rumbling against your back. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweetheart. Stick to being my muse.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face. For a moment, the world felt distant, and all that mattered was the two of you in that room, wrapped up in each other and the quiet strum of a guitar.

Sevika’s phone buzzed, interrupting the intimate moment. The screen lit up with the name “Pinky Pie” and a funny .5-angle photo of Vi that had you snorting. Sevika rolled her eyes dramatically before answering.

“What?” she asked flatly, though her smirk betrayed her amusement.

“Meet in Jinx’s room,” Vi said through the phone, her voice buzzing with energy. “I wanna do a new song tonight—surprise the fans.”

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be on the way, Assface,” Sevika replied, leaning back on the couch.

“See you then, Shithead,” Vi clapped back before hanging up.

As Sevika locked her phone, your eyes caught her lock screen. It was a picture of you—*that* picture. The one from Bora Bora, where you were lounging in a white bikini with a pink flower tucked behind your ear, holding a coconut with the shimmering ocean waves in the background. It was unmistakably from your Instagram, and you knew it well because it was your most-liked post.

Your jaw dropped in playful disbelief. “And you said this wasn’t a relationship…” you teased, snatching her phone from her grasp to get a closer look.

Sevika groaned, but a small smirk tugged at her lips as she quickly took the phone back. “Gotta show them what’s mine,” she said casually, her tone laced with confidence.

You couldn’t help the warmth spreading across your face as you leaned back on her shoulder, a soft smile gracing your lips. “I am yours. All yours,” you murmured.

Sevika glanced down at you, her smirk softening into something more tender. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips. “I love you,” she said quietly, her voice steady and full of conviction.

Your heart stuttered—did it stop for a moment? You weren’t sure. The unexpected confession left you breathless, but your smile widened until it almost hurt. “I love you too, Sevi baby,” you replied with a playful lilt, trying to lighten the overwhelming emotion you felt.

Sevika raised an eyebrow at the nickname, a rare laugh slipping from her lips. “You just ruined the moment,” she teased, gently pushing you off her lap with a smirk.

“Oh, come on!” you protested, grinning as she stood up and began gathering her guitar and other gear she needed for the meeting.

She slung her guitar over her back and glanced at you, her eyes still holding a trace of softness. “I’ll see you at the concert,” she said, her voice low and warm.

“Yeah… I’ll see you then. Tell your stylist to dress you warmly please,” you replied, standing to walk her to the door.

Before she left, she leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, her lips brushing your skin in a way that left your heart racing all over again.

And then she was gone, leaving the room quieter but somehow fuller than before.

While getting ready for the concert, you started with your usual routine—skincare first, then brushing and flossing your teeth. You swirled mouthwash in your mouth as you reached for your phone, noticing it vibrating repeatedly on the counter. Curious, you unlocked it, only to freeze at what was on your screen.

Your eyes widened, and in shock, you choked on the mouthwash, accidentally swallowing it as your breath hitched. Sevika had posted on her social media.

There it was—a photo Sevika had posted on her Instagram. It was an off-guard picture of you laying on the bed, a book in hand, still in nothing but your underwear from the night before. The soft lighting from the bedside lamp illuminated your features, making the scene feel intimate and peaceful.

What made it even worse—or better?—was the caption:

"My muse 🎶🖤"

And she had tagged you.

“What the fuck?!” you yelled, staring at the screen with a mix of horror and disbelief. You quickly scrolled to the comments, which were already blowing up.

Fans were flooding the post:

shatteredsoulsstan “OKAY SEVIKA WE SEE YOU 😍🔥.”

sevikasthirdleg “Wait, are they official now?!?!”

(y/n)updates “This is so hot I can’t breathe.”

caitlynscooch “Y’all need to chill, I can’t handle this power couple energy.”

Your notifications were exploding with likes and tags, and people were already screenshotting the post and sharing it.

You frantically wiped your mouth and called Sevika. She picked up on the second ring, her tone calm and amused. “Hey, baby.”

“Sevika, what is wrong with you?!” you shrieked. “You posted that picture and tagged me?!”

She chuckled, clearly unbothered. “Yeah. What about it?”

“What about it?!” you sputtered. “It’s… it’s—”

“Beautiful,” she interrupted, her voice low and steady. “You’re stunning in it. I wanted everyone to see what I see every day.”

Your frustration faltered as warmth crept up your neck. “That’s… that’s not the point!” you stammered, even though your heart was racing.

“Relax,” she teased. “It’s nothing everyone hasn’t seen before. You’re a model, babe. I just gave them a little reminder that you’re mine.”

You sighed, trying to stay mad, but her confidence—and her words—were impossible to resist. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And you’re irresistible,” she shot back smoothly. “Now, hurry up and finish getting ready. I wanna see you when I get out on that stage.”

She hung up before you could respond, leaving you staring at your phone in exasperation. You muttered under your breath, “This woman is going to be the death of me.”

But as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror, a small, shy smile crept onto your lips. Maybe Sevika’s boldness wasn’t so bad after all. You’d just have to brace yourself for the chaos waiting—and the fans who now definitely knew you were hers.

taglist : @moodient @whatlefoop @nonexistentsourcherry @graciebloom @swordfemm4 @m00npjm @sevikasleftarm @fayecreates @artfairyyyyy @mulan-but-gay @inlovewithsevikaandambessa @sapphiellar @fudosl @athena-winters13

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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months ago

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Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

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You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium.

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while.

Frankie :))))))

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either

R u ok?

You

Yeah I’m ok.

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER.

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there.

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it.

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back.

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field?

Frankie :))))))

Called off work weeks ago

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams.

Of course he came.

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it.

Frankie :))))))

R u at memorial or westwood hospital?

???

You

Memorial. Why?

Frankie :))))))

Be there in 15

You

Frankie you don’t have to do that

Frankie :))))))

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon!

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you.

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance.

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying.

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem.

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date.

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance.

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter.

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair.

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do.

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea.

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t.

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember.

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away.

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.”

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process.

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight.

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.”

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow.

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat.

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay.

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road.

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?”

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror.

“I’m taking you to your game.”

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions.

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-”

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.”

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

“Frankie, I-”

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.”

God, maybe you do want to kiss him.

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.”

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.”

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning.

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without.

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off.

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you.

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either.

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him.

“I didn’t know you were home.”

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand.

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.”

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it.

“Drive was good?”

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?”

“Fine.” Lie.

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst.

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you.

“Of course I was gonna come.”

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy.

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.”

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?”

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.”

That one shuts him up real fucking fast.

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not.

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.”

That shuts you up even quicker.

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat.

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it.

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.”

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go.

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!”

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now.

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in instead.

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital.

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give.

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get.

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you.

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.”

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor.

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about.

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.”

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.”

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return.

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down.

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.”

“Sorry about that, she’s um-”

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off.

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made.

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?”

“No, I just-”

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him.

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet.

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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weasleyreidstyles · 23 days ago

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Serendipity

chapter nineteen

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. all characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): book accurate voldemort, canonical violence, angst, talks of battle, notions of manipulation and mind control

series masterlist; previous part; next part

The days following Charity Burbage's death were agonising. The atmosphere in the cottage had grown cold and dreary; the novety of living away from home having worn away with every mission that Mattheo, Theo and Enzo were sent on. They did not speak a word of what happened in the meeting beyond when Remus and Mad-Eye had come to collect information only hours after the boys had returned home.

Before the inevitable event of Professor Burbage's death, Voldemort's men had divulged their fellow Death Eater and Dark Lord of vital information that they could use to undermine The Order of The Pheonix. There were spies everywhere, just as Mattheo had told Granger back at school before Dumbledore's death.

It was still sureal that his Head of House was sat in this room with him, despite knowing since fifth year that Snape was not a loyal member of The Order. To hear him discussing a plan that only top members, like Lupin or Shacklebolt, would know, was as strange as it was unnerving. His father sat at the head of the table, the seat to the right of him empty, hairless and snakelike with slits for nostils and gleaming red eyes. His chosen appearance was nightmare fuel and nothing akin to the very few photos that Mattheo had of him, when he was still Tom Riddle, still had some of his soul intact. As far as Mattheo was concerned, this creature before him was not his father, but simply a vessel of power that Mattheo would have to overcome. Somehow.

"Severus, here," said the Dark Lord, his elongated hands gesturing to Mattheo's other side. He sent Yaxley to sit beside Dolohov, who still sported the scars inflicted by your magic. It sent pride shooting through Mattheo's veins. Most eyes at the table followed Snape until he sat, and he was who Voldemort addressed first.

"The Order of The Pheonix intends to move Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday, at nightfall." Snape said in his usual low cadence.

Confusion shot through Mattheo at that and he visibly stiffened before fixing his mask of indifference right back into place. Despite feeding information to The Order, everyone in the cottage, even you, were not privvy to the schemes that its members carried out in response. He had no idea that Harry's location would be compromised. Did that mean that your's could be too?

He didn't let that thought linger for any longer than necessary.

"Saturday. At nightfall." Voldemort's eyes fastened on Snape with such an intensity that Mattheo was surprised when his Professor did not cower away like so many others would. He looked Death calmly in the face, and Voldemort's lip curled into something resembling a smile. "Good. And this information comes-"

"-From the source we discussed." Snape replied. This seemed to satisfy Voldemort who's snake like features swept over everyone in the room with a sinister, knowing look, zeroing in on Yaxley, who looked about ready to burst.

"My Lord." He stuttered. "My Lord. I have heard differently."

The Dark Lord did not respond.

"Dawlish, the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved until the thirtieth, the night before the boy's birthday. When his magic becomes traceable."

Mattheo looked beside him saw that Severus Snape was smiling as he responded with a level tone.

"My source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. Dawlish is suspectible. He was probably placed under a Confundus Charm."

Yaxley's eyes narrowed upon Snape's. "I assure you, My Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain."

The Dark Lord finally turned to acknowledge his son, who was stood off to the side, eyes raking across each member with cruel scrutiny. He motioned for Mattheo to come forward. "What do you think, my son?"

Mattheo studied the faces of his father, Snape and Yaxley, rationalising his thoughts before speaking.

"If Dawlish was indeeded Confunded, naturally he would be certain." Mattheo summised. "The Order would be smart to give the Ministry different dates. They must already suspect that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"The Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. I assure you, Yaxley." Snape said with a nod.

Voldemort did not ackowledge the conversation, instead his gaze had wandered upward to the body that had appeared during the discussion, revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.

"My Lord," Yaxley went on, "Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy–"

He held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to Snape.

“Where are they going to hide the boy next?”

“At the home of one of the Order members,” he replied. “The place, according to the source, has been given every protection that the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest.”

“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the table, the firelight casting a menacing glint in his red eyes. “Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”

Yaxley squared his shoulders. “My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have – with difficulty, and after great effort – succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”

Theo sucked in a barely discernable breath, and from his place, Mattheo saw how Draco tensed beside his mother. This was all vital information that Remus would be desperate for.

“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way.”

“Yes, my Lord, that is true – but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down.”

“As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest,” said Voldemort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some portion of approval. It made Mattheo scoff inwardly. No one gained the approval of Voldemort. Not even his only living heir.

“We now have several people planted within the Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” Snape interupted with a barely hidden sneer. “The Order is eschewing any form of transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do with the place.”

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to take, by far.”

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, “I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his triumphs.”

The Death Eaters around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter's continued existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”

He moved his hand in a barely there motion and the body broke free of its invisible bonds, hanging precariously over the dinner table.

“My loyal followers," he says with a sadistic grin, his arms outstretched. "I have a special treat for you all. A little...goft of sorts. Do you recognise our guest Severus? Mattheo?"

Mattheo raised his eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice, “Severus! Help me!”

It was her. The one they were tasked with finding. It was Charity Burbage.

Remus had staggered back when Mattheo finished telling them as much as he could without keeling over from the pain. But the message was clear: the mission to get Harry to Headquarters safely had been thwarted in more ways than they had anticipated; there was evidently a spy in their ranks and Remus couldn't help but think back bitterly to the first time around, his mind filled with the constant 'what ifs' that haunted him with every second that passed without Sirius by his side.

"We need to go forward with the back up plan." Mad Eye said gruffly, his mechanical eye sending shivers down your spine as it zeroed in on you. Mattheo's eyes narrowed, his hand, which rested on your thigh under the table, tightened with anticipation.

"I was under the impression that confusing the dates was the so-called back up plan for whatever it is you lot are scheming." He says, voice low from the excersion of fighting the Dark Mark plastered on his left arm, its curse prowling through his bloodstream like a viper waiting to strike.

"Meadow will be joining us on the mission." Made Eye says, choosing to ignore the seething heir sat opposite him.

Mattheo slams his fist on the table, before he points his finger angrily towards the Auror. "Like hell she is! You heard what I said. They plan to ambush you. She will not be put in harm's way."

"Her power is vital to us. We need her to protect Harry." Mad Eye argues back with equal ferosity, ignoring the way the others around the table watch with wide eys.

"No." Mattheo says with so much finality and malice, making the veins in his neck bulge and the fury in his eyes to ignite. You can feel his anger in your core, and you know nothing will calm him until he gets what he wants.

You make eye contact with Remus, who sits uncomfortably beside his comrade, and drown out the hurls of insults flying out of your boyfriend's mouth as you speak to him.

What will I have to do, if I agree? You ask, brows furrowed with nerves.

You would follow along with the rest of us, disguised as Harry using polyjuice potion. You and six others, so we can confuse the Death Eaters away from the real Harry. Remus tells you and you nod your head in acknowledgment; only Pansy is the one to notice the exchange amongst the shouting match that had transpired between Mattheo and Mad Eye Moody.

"What would Meadow have to do?" she asks, ignoring the way Mattheo's stare cuts through her like a knife. "No one can know that she's the siphon, so how will you protect her while protecting Potter?"

"She won't need protecting because she's not going anywhere." Mattheo seethes at his friend, who merely rolls her eyes at him.

"She is her own person Mattheo. Let Meadow decide for herself." Pansy snaps back, causing Mattheo to pause and turn to you.

You're sat silently, eyes focused only on Remus as he explains the plan in great detail to you. He admires you for a brief moment, drinking in the slope of your nose, the rosiness of your cheeks and the way your lips part in concentration. Mattheo's hand resting gently on your shoulder knocks your focus from your old professor.

"I'll do it." You say, your tone dripping with a certainty that would not be shaken. Mattheo bristles in his place. "Under one condition."

"Anything, Meadow." Remus says softly, his scarred face alight with gratitude.

"Harry cannot know." You say and hold up a hand when Remus tries to interrupt. "He can't. He doesn't trust me. If he sees me there's a high probability that he refuses to leave the Dursleys' home."

"How do you suggest we go about it then?" Mad Eye asks with a frustrated grunt.

"The final safehouse, between Surrey and the Burrow is Headquarters." You say, ignoring the looks from your friends. "The Death Eaters will no doubt suspect that so send me there. Don't send me to the Burrow."

"It's doable." Remus muses with a thoughtful expression.

"There are things in Grimmauld Place that Harry will need. I'll retrieve them for you to give to him at the wedding." you say, brushing your hands off of your trousers before moving to stand.

"You'll be at the wedding, Meadow." Remus says, but the way he's looking at you says he understands your hesitation.

After a moment of silence, Mad Eye is the one to speak.

"Then it's settled. Welcome to your first official induction into the Order Miss Meadow."

~∞~

surprise!!!!! im back baby!!!

a short and (not so?) sweet chapter for you lovely people! im so sorry ive left the story for so long but its a new year, and i have new aspirations that include actually finishing my works (😵‍💫) so more chapters to come!!

fair warning: we're entering deathly hallows territory so its gonna be angst central!!!!!

ive missed matty and meadow so much but i can't wait to do their story justice and im sorry this one was so short but honestly im enjoying building any and all suspense soooo....

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@supersecretsamm @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff

@babeylover @thejadeazalea @nicoleeblossom @adhxmoony

@dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf

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#serendipity series #slytherin boys #harry potter #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you

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retrorats · 2 months ago

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Some thoughts about Komaeda's fifth free time event and his relationship with Hinata

The fifth Komaeda free time event has always been very popular between Komahina fans, specially because the event was where the romantic tone of their relationship was consolidated for a lot of people. But even if the focus is usually on Komaeda's love confession, I have always felt that this free time event is way more important and meaningful besides that. This event has on it a lot of important moments that say a lot about their relationship, and that make very clear the most prevalent themes of it.

The free time event starts with Komaeda wondering why Hinata is still going out in his way to talk to him. Hinata answers that he is doing it so he can hear the rest of his story, in his typical fashion of rationalizing and dismissing his feelings for Komaeda. While Komaeda tells the rest of the story, he says one of the most important things for this free time event, and in general for the relationship of Komaeda and Hinata.

This dialogue reveals to us the important information about how Komaeda not only perceived the similarities between them since they first met, but also how since that moment, he deeply believed that Hinata would be able to understand him. All of the things that this scene explains are the fundamental basis of the relationship of Komaeda and Hinata. Komaeda's attachment towards Hinata comes from a place of feeling like he had finally found a person that could get to understand him and as we will see with other parts of this free time event, he thought he had finally found a person that could love him.

Hinata's response towards Komaeda is also important to mention. Hinata negates to be not like Komaeda, he rejects their similarities and also in certain way he rejects the connection Komaeda feels between them, something that's accentuated even more considering how Komaeda interprets his words as having lost the opportunity of having someone inheriting his soul. But even in his negation, there's something deeply interesting in the way Hinata phrases certain things in it. If we look well at what Hinata is saying, we can see how while he negates being similar to Komaeda, his negation is mostly focused on negating his misery, and he seems to silently accept being a bystander that is devoid of any unique aura possessed by the talented.

In a certain way, Hinata's negation in this part has always read to me as being a last resort to try to distinguish himself in some way from Komaeda. Compared to other parts where Komaeda alludes to him and Hinata being similar, here the negation of Hinata doesn't feel so unaware like in the other times that he negated it, here it feels more like Hinata is legitimately aware of how similar they are; He says that he's not miserable, and that he is ultimately different from Komaeda as a last resort to negate what he already knows, and to dissociate himself from him.

Komaeda talks about how he doesn't have anyone in this world and how absolutely lonely his existence is. Something very interesting that Komaeda says, is that he mentions his ideologies as the main reason for being alone.

This moment is not only interesting because it puts Komaeda loneliness to be something that is a lot about his way of thinking being completely incomprehensible for other people, but also because it provides us with certain information about the relationship between Komaeda and Hinata. People distancing from Komaeda because of his beliefs is not something that is only mentioned here, but it is very explicitly the main reason why Hinata distanced himself from Komaeda since chapter 1. Because of this, it's not hard to read this to be a certain reference to his relationship with Hinata -a person that Komaeda really felt he could connect with- and how he also ended up distancing himself because of his way of thinking, like other people Komaeda knew.

This seems to be the principal reason of why Komaeda seems to be so focused on believing that he and Hinata are similar, and also in the belief of Hinata being able to understand him. Komaeda has been misunderstood by everyone all his life and his ideologies have isolated him from the rest of society. All of this has resulted on Komaeda having the fixation on finding someone that would be able to understand him, this fixation ultimately leading him to have a very intense attachment towards Hinata even when they barely really knew each other, because it was probably the first time he had known someone that was similar enough to him to understand him.

There is also a certain connection between Komaeda thinking that they are similar, Hinata distancing himself from him and Komaeda's surprised reaction in chapter 1 seeing Hinata had started to think lowly of him. When Komaeda thought that he and Hinata were similar, he probably also believed that Hinata had a similar way of thinking, and because of that, he wouldn't just distance himself from Komaeda like the others when discovering the truth of the murder.

Considering how Komaeda talks about feeling that Hinata was able to understand his feelings, how he implied that he wanted Hinata to "inherit his soul" and in general considering how much this free time event talks about their connection, is not hard to think that in certain way this line is also a little bit about Hinata. Obviously, Komaeda's desire to be loved wasn't born because of Hinata, but I do think considering all we have seen before, is logical to think that one of the reasons Komaeda was so attached to Hinata is because he saw in him -because of their similarities- someone that he could connect with, and for that same reason, someone that could love him.

This is specifically accentuated considering the very strong reaction that has Hinata regarding this statement, literally considering throwing everything he has believed about not forgiving Komaeda until that point. I don't think that his reaction is because he was aware of that fact, but I do think it was written in that way to accentuate how this was talking in a certain way about Hinata.

Hinata's extremely heartbreaking and intense response towards Komaeda "lying" could also be easily considered a hint towards this being in a certain way about Hinata, but his response to this is also about way more than just that. His reaction is due to a lot of things, for one part it's about how Hinata feels like he was just deceived by Komaeda again, after having spent so much time trying to actually understand him. But is also about how Hinata wanted to believe in the existence of the Komaeda he once knew. Both of these very strong reactions -this one and his reaction towards Komaeda wanting to be loved- are born from that, from the need to believe him and to have a proof that after all, there existed some truth about the Komaeda he once knew, that there was some logic behind Komaeda, that there existed a reason behind his behavior.

He specially wanted to believe on that line because of how human it makes Komaeda. His biggest desire being something as sensible and human as connection, and this desire, being only realized when on the verge of death, is something that makes Komaeda look very tragic. That makes, Komaeda, human and sensible, and his actions, suddenly are more understandable. Hinata wants to believe on this because he wants to make reason of Komaeda, and give a logic, a very human and sensible logic, to the way he acts.

To finalize, I really love this event because I feel that in it is conveyed all of the main themes and important parts of the relationship of Komaeda and Hinata. It's very beautiful for me to see all the little parts that make them themselves being presented so strongly and explicitly on a full event.

#komahina #hajime hinata #nagito komaeda #sdr2 #danganronpa #super danganronpa 2 #danganronpa 2 #hinata hajime #komaeda nagito

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prythiansprincess · 1 year ago

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kiss with a fist | chapter one.

home | chapters | playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: kiss with a fist - florence and the machine.

author's note: i'm so excited to share this series with everyone. this was literally meant to be a one shot fic but i have no self control therefore it spiraled into a whole series. without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter and let me know what you think 🤎

Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.

Intelligence, knowledge, wisdom. These were the traits that Ravenclaws valued most, but if the founder of your house could see you now, Rowena Ravenclaw would probably roll over in her grave.

Because there was nothing smart about falling in love with Theodore Nott.

In fact, it might be the most idiotic thing you’ve ever done in your entire life.

So why did it feel so bloody exhilarating?

To understand your descent into madness, it was prudent to trace the events back to point zero.

It was a rainy September afternoon, unusually dreary even for the Scottish Highlands. The first week of your return to Hogwarts had been chaotic to say the least. Between performing your prefect duties by showing the first years around the castle and dealing with the clueless third year that accidentally set off Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs in the Great Hall, you were absolutely knackered by the time Friday rolled around.

Unfortunately, you had no time to rest. Even though the term just started, you were already spending much of your nights studying until your eyes felt like they were going to fall out of your skull. Tonight, you were in the potions laboratory tackling a particularly stubborn advanced draught. No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t figure it out.

You dropped a sprig of wormwood into the cauldron and stirred counterclockwise then clockwise, just like the recipe instructed. The concoction bubbled to the surface. Holding your breath, you peered into the mixture with hope that this try would finally turn out successful. The potion turned a vibrant magenta color before exploding all over the front of your uniform.

Sadly, this was the closest you’d come to brewing the Angel’s Trumpet Draught. You sighed, wiping down your tie with a washcloth. It did nothing except make the mess worse. What you needed was a good old fashioned soak.

Luckily, you had access to the prefect’s bathroom on the fifth floor. During this time of night, it would be gloriously empty. Giving you the perfect opportunity to wallow in bubbles and self pity.

The trek from the dungeons to the fifth floor was fortunately uneventful. The hallways were dark and quiet, allowing you to slink off to the bathroom in peace. With a whisper of pine fresh, the pearly gates opened.

You turned on the faucets, setting the temperature just below boiling and dispensing herbs and fragrances into the tub. When you were finally satisfied, you quickly discarded your soiled clothes and eagerly stepped into the warm bath. The scent of rosewater and pink himalayan salt instantly relaxed you.

You sighed deeply, leaning against the marble tile and closing your eyes. This was definitely not the way you thought seventh year would go. Your last year at Hogwarts was supposed to be the highlight of your academic career. While your housemates fretted and fussed over quidditch games and blood moon balls, you refused to take your eyes off the prize.

Ever the diligent student, you had no interest in extracurriculars unless it brought you closer to your dream of becoming an accomplished potions master, which would hopefully catch the eye of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. Joining the prestigious group was a dream that you had been working towards since first year. Blood, sweat, and tears had gone towards achieving this goal, especially during your most recent break.

You spent the entire holiday interning at the Brewery, attending lectures at the Magical Division of the University of Oxford, and you had not only completed the assigned reading for your Advanced Potions class, but Professor Slughorn’s personal recommendations as well. All of that hard work should have placed you ahead of the curve, but your class rank remained the same as always.

Second.

Not first.

Never first.

No, that spot belonged to that rich infuriating smartass pureblooded motherfu—

“Theodore Nott,” you said, lacing your voice with as much venom as you could muster.

Between the pale moonstone pillars stood the source of your academic anguish. Theodore was dripping sweat, his green and silver quidditch jersey covered in mud and grime. The prefect badge pinned to his robe was barely visible, more brown than silver. His curly brown hair fell erratically across his cheekbones as he brushed a stray strand away to squint in the faint light.

The side of his mouth quirked up into a smirk when he recognized you. “You know, most people just call me Theo.” His gaze lingered on your form, which was barely covered by pink suds. “Especially those who know me rather intimately.”

You flushed in response. Amusement danced in his watercolor eyes, which seemed brighter now thanks to his sun kissed complexion. Knowing Nott, he probably spent his summer laying out in the Italian sun while attractive witches fed him grapes by hand. You didn’t get a tan like that from holing up in the English countryside with nothing but a boiling cauldron and a dusty textbook for company. He didn’t even have the audacity to pretend like he was worried about his class ranking. The bastard.

“Every rule has its exception, Theodore,” you gritted out. “Now get the fuck out.”

He cocked his head, sending a mass of wavy brown locks to spill to one side. “You’re right. Most people don’t usually say my name like it’s an unforgivable, but I guess you’re special in that way, diavolina mia.”

Little devil, Nott's idea of a fond nickname, irritated you to no end. Your annoyance only made him use it more. Gods, what a wanker.

“Are you deaf or just thick? This bathroom is occupied,” you huffed, sinking lower into the bubbles. “Leave before I scream bloody murder.”

Theo smirked. “Oh, I guarantee you’ll be screaming.” He kicked his shoes off, leaving them in a messy pile beside your own neatly arranged boots. “Though the only thing I’ll be murdering is that pu—”

The glare you sent his way would have sent lesser men running for the Forbidden Forest. “I’m serious, Nott. I’ve had a terrible fucking day and I am not giving up the bath.”

“Neither am I,” he countered. “Practice was brutal. I ate shit on the pitch and all I want to do is to reap my prefect benefits via bubble bath. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to learn how to share, sweetheart.”

You watched in stunned silence as he peeled off his jersey. The moonlight streamed through the glass stained windows, painting him in a surreal sort of light. There was no ounce of shame to be found in Theodore Nott as he stripped off his trousers and stood stark naked in the middle of the bathroom.

Look away, you thought. Look the fuck away now.

But like a moth to a flame, you found yourself horribly drawn to the cocky, arrogant, son of a bludger. His tall frame cut an imposing figure in the dark as slivers of moonlight danced across his ridiculously toned chest and well-defined abs. He was neither brawny nor scrawny, but somewhere in the middle, which unfortunately happened to be your sweet spot.

To make matters worse, the smug prick seemed perfectly aware of your ogling. You could’ve sworn Theo flexed as he stalked towards you. Unlike most boys his age, he wasn’t awkward or bumbling. Theo was confident in his body. Too confident.

You sighed. “Can you at least attempt to be decent?”

“Why? It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before.”

As if you needed a reminder of this ongoing tryst between you. Theo waded to your side, leaning his head back as the warm water sloshed around him. His eyes fluttered close, those thick lashes of his kissing the top of his cheekbones. Water trickled down his collarbone and you had to fight the urge to lean over and lick it off.

“I told you, last time was—“

“The last time,” Theo finished. “I’m perfectly aware, principessa. You say it every time.”

“I mean it this time.”

He cocked his head, flashing those hypnotizing eyes at you. “Oh?” Theo drawled slowly, reaching out to brush a wayward lock of hair that had escaped from your braid. “Did my poor little Ravenclaw finally find the courage to say no to the big bad Slytherin?”

Your breath hitched as he pressed his lips against your throat. “Fuck,” you whispered.

“Go on then, love,” Theo hummed against your skin. He kissed the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe, making you involuntarily arch into him. Slender fingers wrapped around the base of your throat, holding you in place. “Tell me what you want, diavolina.”

You sighed in defeat. “Stop being an asshole and kiss me, Nott.”

Theo grabbed the back of your head and crashed his lips against yours like a man starved. After months of going without, you came to the horrid realization that you craved this as much as he did. You crawled into his lap, straddling him as he gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

I am a stupid girl, you thought. A stupid, horny girl who had no business snogging Theodore Nott.

One, you were bitter rivals. Two, Theo awakened a dangerous side of you that defied all logic. This whole fucked up situation started because of your lapse of judgment last winter. As always, Theo had said or done something to annoy you during class and in return you hexed his drink to taste like dragon dung. He retched for a week straight. Somehow Snape found out that you were to blame and placed both of you in detention.

One thing led to another in the potions classroom and you ended up with your skirt around your waist and Theo’s head between your legs. You quickly resolved that the only way to shut him up was to keep him occupied and occupied he was. Ever since then, the two of you had been at it like rabbits.

You thought that you would leave all of it behind in sixth year, but barely a week into this term and you were already repeating the pattern.

“I’ve been thinking about this all summer,” Theo groaned into your mouth.

“That’s cute, Nott,” you responded sarcastically. “Miss me over the holidays, did you?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about this too. You’ve been testier than a Hungarian Horntail since the minute you got off the platform. I could tell that you haven’t been properly fucked since our little impromptu goodbye in the broom closet last spring.”

“You’re absolutely repulsing.”

He smirked. “Then why are you pulling me closer?”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up and fuck me before I change my mind.”

“You could say please.”

“I could,” you said with a shrug before gripping his cock and lining him up at your entrance. Theo groaned as you sank down into him with a satisfied little smirk. “But I won’t.”

The moan that came out of his mouth barely sounded human. “Fuck,” he said, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “How do you always feel so fucking good?”

You knew what he meant. As much as you hated to admit it, Theo was right. You hadn’t gotten properly laid since your last tryst. There had been other boys this summer, but none of them made you feel like this. Because sex with Theo wasn’t just sex. It was warfare. You fucked like you both had something to prove.

Even now, as you grinded your hips against him, Theo thrusted upwards with equal force like you were competing for the bloody house cup. You ran your fingers through his hair, frowning a little.

“What?” Theo asked.

“Did you cut your hair?”

He grinned as he trailed kisses along your jaw. “You don’t like it?”

“Less to hold onto.”

“Don’t worry dolcezza,” Theo chuckled darkly. He squeezed your thighs and pressed you against him roughly. “I’ll make sure to hold on tight for the both of us.”

You hummed in agreement before sinking down again, setting a steady rhythm as you rode him with reckless abandon. For someone who valued logic, every ounce of common sense you possessed went out the window when it came to this infuriating boy.

Maybe you were a masochist. But as Theo thrust sharply into you, the stupid little voice in your head said that you didn’t really mind the pain.

You moaned as Theo tilted your chin, capturing your lips with his. It was a clash of tongue and teeth as you fought for dominance, putting your bodies to the test. He knew exactly what buttons to press, which sensitive spots to hit, how to challenge you physically and mentally.

“Gods, right there.” You whimpered, digging your fingernails into his back. Theo’s hypnotizing eyes snapped to yours, piercing through every layer until you felt even more bare than you already were. “Don’t fucking stop, please.”

He smirked. “So you do have bedside manner after all.”

“Not for you,” you said as you grinded down hard, making Theo bite into your shoulder.

“Salazar fucking save me,” he grunted.

“Your founder can’t save you now, Nott.”

“Cruel, ruthless woman.” Theo looked up at you like he was praying to the stars. His movements stilled as your gazes collided. “Tell me you missed this. Tell me that no one else makes you feel like this.”

You whined at the loss of friction. “You’ve picked a shit time to get all sentimental on me, Nott.”

“It’s not sentiment, it’s the truth,” Theo declared, thrusting lazily. “And I want to hear you say it.”

“Why?”

“Call it curiosity,” he said casually. “I want to know if I measure up to the boys back in Oxford.”

Not even close, you thought. But you were not about to admit that out loud.

“Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

Theo chuckled before sinking his teeth into your neck. “But I’m not a cat, little bird. I’m a snake and I’m coiled around you ready to strike if you say the word.”

You shivered slightly. This constant back and forth, all the bickering and banter, was just you and Theo’s sick and twisted version of foreplay. Gods, you fucking missed it.

“Fine,” you grumbled. “Theodore Nott, you are an infuriating little shit but you fuck like an absolute demon. I missed sneaking around with you in the broom closet, the charms classroom, the astronomy tower, and wherever else we managed to defile in this bloody castle. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The shiteating grin on his face almost made you want to take it all back, but then he flipped you over, laying you down on the cold marble tile and staring at you with so much lust in his eyes that you felt the depths of his desire in your core. He crawled over you, water trickling down his tanned skin.

“Close enough,” he remarked before hiking your leg over his shoulder and burying himself so deep that you clawed the edge of the tub to keep yourself from slipping.

The rest of it was a blur of skin on skin as Theo unleashed himself on you. His mouth, his fingers, his cock were all just tools of seduction that he wielded with lethal precision.

The pleasure washed over you in waves, crashing again and again as he made you cum not once, not twice, but a total of three times. By the time he reached his peak, you were so exhausted that the two of you collapsed in the dark.

You laid side by side, staring up at the domed glass ceiling in stunned silence. After a moment, Theo turned over to face you.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Did I manage to knock that stick out of your arse?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off the tile. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

“I’m kidding. I’m good, but I’m not that good,” Theo teased, following closely behind as you put your clothes back on. He eyed the bright magenta stain on the front of your uniform. “What happened there? Did you murder some poor unsuspecting pygmy puff?”

“No, but I did a number on the potions lab,” you lamented with a sigh. “That stupid Angel’s Trumpet Draught is bloody impossible to brew.”

“That old thing?” Theo asked, pulling out a fresh set of clothes from his quidditch bag. “I finished it ages ago.”

You gaped, nearly tumbling over your own skirt. “How? I followed the recipe word for word and this disastrous stain was all I managed to achieve.”

“Sometimes you have to go off the book,” he replied. “Experiment a little.”

“No thanks, I’d rather keep all my limbs intact.”

“I think you’re doing a rather splendid job of endangering yourself all on your own,” Theo said sarcastically. He cocked his head as you slipped on your boots. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll show you how to brew the draught in exchange for a favor.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “What kind of favor?”

“That’s for me to decide and for you to accept.”

“I’d rather not give an egomaniac a nuclear advantage.”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Do you want my help or not, diavolina?”

“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “But only because I’m desperate.”

“Words every bloke is dying to hear.”

Without a word, he tossed a mass of balled up fabric in your direction. “What’s this?”

“A jumper, an article of clothing generally worn to retain warmth in colder climates,” Theo deadpanned.

“I know what a jumper is, you tosser. Why are you giving it to me?”

“Because, you’ll get a cold walking around like that,” Theo explained with a longsuffering sigh as though you were a clueless first year. The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Plus, I can see your nipples through your blouse and as much as I enjoy the view, I doubt that flashing Filch is at the top of your bucket list.”

“You truly are appalling,” you replied, shrugging the slightly faded jumper on. The thing was so worn that you couldn’t even make out the inscription on the front. The fabric swallowed you whole, skimming the top of your thighs. It also smelled like sea salt and smoke and boy. One boy in particular.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He grinned, showing off those stupid little dimples of his. “Meet me in the potions lab tomorrow. Eight o’clock sharp, just like old times. And bring a muffin.”

“For the draught?’

“No, for me.” Theo said, holding the door open. “I’ll need motivation if I’m spending my Saturday morning with you.”

You slipped into the hallway and flipped him the bird. His laughter followed you in the dark like an annoying shadow.

“See you tomorrow, my little pygmy puff!”

Taglist: @annaisabookworm@marina468@yaraasthings @the0doreslover@bubybubsters@moony-artemis @natasha887@lucyysthings@criesinlies @bunnymallowo@niktwazny303@letmedownslows @siriuslyalovergirl@wordsarelife@clairesjointshurt @daydreamingabthar @mishtay @cherry-hoe @littlebookbengal @maybefoxysouls @nomup @aliensknowmyillusions

#your honor i love him and his filthy mouth #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott smut #theo nott x you #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #theo nott fluff #theo nott fic #theodore nott fic #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x y/n

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reds-skull · 3 months ago

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The frames of the video from the comic in the previous post. I experimented a lot with this, it was really fun to work with this chunky brush I found. Also the first time I draw the Reaper of Destruction as it was before Lumity!

More comments under the cut+a frame I ended up scrapping!

I'll go by order of appearance, because it's basically a chronological retelling of the events of part 1.

So the first frame is the least fancy because it was the first and I didn't nail down a style for this yet lol. It shows Ghost and Soap's first true meeting, in chapter 1, where Ghost helps Soap when he gets impaled by a rebar.

The second frame jumps to chapter 8, when Ghost first put Soap in Limbo. The triangle around them was a later addition, taken from the next frame. I love this scene, it's so fun to see it drawn out now :)

The third frame was the most important one to nail the style. I painted a whole frame, only to come back to it the next day and restart from almost 0.

This is the original third frame

They both show the same event - chapter 21, the second time Soap is thrown into Limbo. The difference is, one shows a more literal image of what happened, and the other is more symbolic.

And by now I think you know how much I love symbolism lol

What also bothered me with the scraped painting is that the composition isn't central, and the entire pose, while more dynamic, isn't fitting the mural feel the rest has.

There's an even earlier version of the scrapped painting, with Soap's face, but nowhere else there are faces in these series, so I went wild with it and covered it with flames. He had them behind him already, as the description of this scene in the fic says Soap had a helo of fire behind him.

(also hated how Limbo's victims looked in the scrapped version like... ew lol)

There wasn't a real reason to add the circles around Soap. I just wanted to lean more heavily into the mural style. But I took that circle motif to the end, after that, and added it to Ghost as well, hence the triangle.

Soap has one skeletal hand, and one palm. That one is on purpose, to show he's hanging in between life and death.

The fourth frame is pretty self-explanatory, it shows the part in chapter 21 where Soap gets the dark marks on his forearm. If the colors look weird in that one, it's because I messed with them so much I couldn't tell if they look good anymore on not

The fifth frame shows another favorite moment of mine, the moment Ghost gets his marks, the white tear tracks, when he finally notices Soap fighting in the void.

The sixth frame is my favorite of the bunch. Soap and Ghost, the triangle and circle combined. The moment they killed Graves, Ghost in full control of his subjects, Soap with his sword of white fire and army of burning moths. They look so scary in this one I love them

The seventh frame shows Void and Destruction. Void was straight forward, I've drawn it a few times before, but I had to make a more detailed design for Destruction, and I only had the very first sketches I made for Revenant AU to go off of, as well as Lumity's design. Idk why I designed Lumity before Destruction, but that's how it is. I wanted Destruction melting, like it can't handle its own heat.

The eighth frame is of Void and Destruction combining. In the fic they had in-between states, it didn't look like this, but for the sake of the video I thought it'd be nicer to have a clear frame of them combining.

The ninth and last frame is of our beloved Lumity. Their design is a little more detailed than the drawing I made a while back. This frame is also the only one that interacts with the foreground, aka Makarov. I think he was jump-scared, don't know how much that comes across.

Damn I had a lot to write. Well, when given the opportunity to ramble...

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #revenant au #cod fanart #...fanart of my own au for the most part but oh well #ty for reading whoever did <3

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soapybutt17 · 10 months ago

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Too Sweet For Me

Summary: It was the annual Military Ball, the fifth one since you and John have been married in secret. With his new promotion as Captain, meant a whole ball park of responsibilities he was still getting used to—but nothing gets to him more than the mere sight of you, his beautiful darling in the dress he always loves. It was also something to prepare for with the new changes that came to this year’s ball. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Kate Laswell. Word Count: 2,190 Chapter Warnings: None. Author's Note: this was also supposed to be for @glitterypirateduck's O'Captain challenge but my appendix had other plans for me this past few days. Lol.

Inspired by this song (obviously)

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“Darling.” You couldn’t help but smile at your husband’s pained groan.

With a red backless dress, you know you would turn heads with your outfit and even more certain that your husband would be killing a few men if you weren’t too careful about him.

“Behave.” You pulled away from him as soon as you felt his hands hold onto the small of your exposed back. You turned to face him, seeing him so handsome in his ceremonial uniform, an upgrade since his new promotion.

“I don’t think I can see myself behaving with you looking so ravishing.” He muttered approaching you again and pulling you into another kiss, allowing him this one time since you have yet to put your make up on. “Will this be a problem for tonight?” He playfully warned.

“If you keep your hands to yourself it won’t.” You playfully pointed out pecking him on the lips one last time before turning your attention back to your vanity mirror to put on your makeup. “I’m surprised that you actually plan on coming to this year’s event. I’d expect you to just stay home after the last mission.” You pointed out.

Behind the bravado and the handsome uniform your husband had on, was a broken but healing man that just got back from a mission. A few scrapes and bruises you all know too well were hidden perfectly well, but the black eyes was something that would take more than an ice pack and makeup to actually cover.

“Better to be there to see what those muppets have planned.” He grumbled.

You had accidentally let it slip that there was going to be an auction for this year’s event and you had volunteered to be part of the auction. A simple date that you were certain meant absolutely nothing but it was for a great cause and you couldn’t really fault them with.

Your husband was still apprehensive about the fact, especially knowing that no one was made aware of your relationship to each other. Everyone was given the fact that you were both good friends that had been on countless missions together. It was nothing but friendship between the two of you if you were ever spotted in town together even when the both of you knew it was something more.

“It’s just one date, even Kate is joining along.” You tried your best to reassure him but it wasn’t happening whatsoever with the deep frown resting on his lips.

“Just because I agreed to this doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.” He muttered under his breath, finally resigning by your decision, which you were thankful for. No need for you to try to convince him with anything.

“You owe me for this. I need some kind of motivation for tonight not to blow someone’s head.” He muttered.

And you spoke too soon.

“How about a day or two in that ritzy cabin you’ve been pestering me about for weeks now.” You offered.

One thing you truly hated was being too out of touch with society if you could avoid it. You have to do it for work, you weren’t so keen on doing it in your personal time if you didn’t have to. But your husband just was a recluse when he wants to be and this was one of those many instance that he will have his way.

“Deal and the ring stays on so they know you’re mine.” He muttered.

You smiled, lifting your hand up for him to see the sparkle of your engagement and wedding ring still nestled on your finger. Even without him saying it, you wouldn’t even dream of removing it.

The newly promoted Captain John Price should have been at the top of the world because of his new title, but it was far from the reality of it as he watched his beloved wife continue to mingle amongst both officials and fellow soldiers. It still shook him to the core how someone like you could command yet bring comfort to anyone that was privileged to be in your presence.

But that was just what made him love you so much. How someone like you, a Lieutenant to his own position as a Sergeant would never once use your position to demean him or treat him as anything less than you were. Some may say your call sign as Rookie to be an insult, a way to make you less than what you truly were, but you proved time and time again that it was a reassurance to anyone lower than you that you will stand on equal footing as them if the need arises especially on missions.

“Rookie’s already stealing the spotlight.”

John turned his attention to one unfortunate woman he had the misfortune of meeting in his life that turned his whole world upside down. Kate Laswell was an intelligent woman—far too much for her own good at times but she was the best of the best in her line of work. She was one of the main reasons why he was placed in a mission that ended with him finally climbing the ranks.

“As she should.” John agreed, subtle in his comments as to avoid anyone, especially Laswell from thinking anything was going on between the two of you.

“I still can’t believe she refused the promotion.” She continued taking a swig at the whiskey she was cradling, only bringing a craving for one in John himself.

“I’ve heard. I don’t think she’d be a good fit with the paperworks from the looks of it.” He added.

Of course he knew the very reason why you had refused the promotion on your own end. You were in all accounts a better fit than him to become a Captain, a rank that had been a well-deserved position for everything you’ve done but every single time the topic would be brought up you had threatened retirement or AWOL if anyone pushes. You never truly saw yourself as someone that would be working behind the desk, you couldn’t help and navigate dealing with officials, you admit you were never built for such capabilities.

“I believe she is. You should have seen her chew on Shepherd during the last mission. She’s got guts and a heart that not something you see in the field often.”

He nodded, that was what made you special. He watched you now begin a lengthy conversation with the well-known and very much feared soldier Ghost. How you had been the only one to hold a conversation and not trembled at the sight of the monster of a killing machine.

“Why am I not even surprise with her.” He chuckled turning his attention away from you and turning towards Laswell. “So, are we just gonna spend the entire night talking about Rookie?”

“That’s not much of an issue for you Captain.” Laswell smirked knowingly.

“Will I ever live that down?” He questioned, jokingly.

He was once again reminded of the time in his drugged state where he was delirious enough to propose to you after a mission gone wrong. To many it was just him too drugged from painkillers but for you it was an intentional proposal that you accepted once you were alone.

“You’re never gonna escape the allegations, John. I will never allow it.” Laswell smirked finally excusing herself when the MC has begun.

He made his way to this designated table, his eyes always following you. He watched as you made your way backstage to prepare for the auction later on tonight. It brought the never ending dread in the pit of his stomach as the staff began distributing the auction paddle around, accepting his own without an ounce of hesitation.

It will be a long night that much he has come to realize.

“One Thousand!”

You had faced so much trials and tribulation during your career in the military. The vile and often times immoral acts that was placed against you during interrogations and kidnapping, but nothing in your life could have given you more shame than to be standing in front of the stage as numerous bids have been placed upon your name.

Your eyes had been following along to the numerous of individuals that were bidding, some were colleagues your husband had been all too certain had hots for you, others were top officials that you were more than certain were pigs for involving themselves in the date auction knowing they were married, then there were the guests that had been leering at you all night long.

Maybe your husband was right, the auction was a big mistake.

Your eyes scanned the entire room until they met the familiar eyes of your husband. The reassurance had settled on his eyes as much as the annoyance but he was waiting for you to give him the signal.

Somehow with a simple nod it was all he needed to do to raise the paddle and his booming voice had silence everyone.

“Ten thousand.” His voice had everyone turning.

It was one of the highest bids for the night and it just had to be from the man himself. The rest of the night had been a blur, after the auction and countless of formalities and empty conversations, you had found yourself in the arms of your husband as he helped you back onto the car.

“You alright?” He inquired cupping your cheeks the moment he had helped you with your seatbelt.

“Will get better.” You assured him grounding yourself back to reality as he patted your cheeks and driving the two of you back to your shared apartment.

The car ride was silent, the event with the auction still playing in your head. It could go so wrong in many ways if your husband did not intervene. It was supposed to be for a good cause, but it did not feel like it when you stood in front of the stage. You felt more like meat being prepared to be slaughtered.

Eventually you two had arrived back. Your husband opened the car for you and led you back to you to your apartment. The silence was consuming you more than you expected it to.

“Want to sober up or not?” Your husband inquired.

You turned to look at him as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Sober up would be great right now.” You sighed following him to the kitchen, hopping onto the barstool by the kitchen island. Toeing off your heels in the process, an unintentional moan escaped your lips from the relief on your feet.

“I haven’t done anything yet and you’re already moaning, My Love?” He teased placing a mug of coffee in front of you, from the smell alone you were all too certain was too bitter for your taste.

“Play your cards right and maybe I’ll be the one to make you moan all night.” You quipped right back, cupping the mug and relief of the warmth washing away the events of the night.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” He smirked turning towards your mini bar and pour himself a hefty pour of whiskey.

“Surprised you didn’t threatened anyone at the party.” You pointed out.

“I could do lots of things, but I decided it wasn’t worth the hassle for either of us.”

You nodded, watching him unbutton his uniform and sit beside you. Your head immediately finding their way onto his shoulder.

“I’ll pay you back what you paid for the auction.” You promised him.

“You would do no such thing.” He ordered. “You’re worth every pretty penny I’ve paid for tonight.”

You blushed at his words. Even in the years of being with the man, he still has his way of turning you into the girl that had always had a crush on the handsome gruff all only had eyes for you.

Your eyes turned towards your hand, the sparkle of your rings was always present and never once did you remove them even at the party. You wanted to keep your relationship private but never a secret and there are days that you wished to let the world know. But now with his new promotion and you having to lead yet another mission with the help of him now, you doubt it would be a good thing to do.

“You’re too sweet to me sometimes, even after how shitty the night turned out.”

“Nothing shitty about tonight. I get to see you all dressed up and all eyes on you knowing you’re gonna come home to me tonight and do whatever their empty little heads could formulate.”

You rolled your eyes cupping his cheeks and move him slightly too pull him into a kiss that you had desperately wanted to give him all night long. The taste of whiskey brought a sudden thrill through your core.

“Plan on showing it to me, Captain?” You purred and the way his eyes blew out, it was all notification you needed to know as you were unceremoniously lifted into his arms.

Whoever thought your husband had a Captain Kink?

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wyked-ao3 · 7 months ago

Text

Yep and you can even like them before I post them lol

Take this post as permission to be weird about my OCs.

Love them, hate them, lust for them, want them to change, want them to never change, have freaky kinks involving them, relate to them completely nonsexually, make them your gender, make them your ominous warning, make weird little daydreams where my ocs meet your ocs, make comments about them that change my perspective of the thing I myself created.

Cuz If its alright with you... If I get to know your ocs I'm likely doing just that.

#im on the fifth chapter #Of #The pirate king of deaths redemption #But I want to finish My supernatural wip #omens #So I'm working on both #Along with new chapters for #Tuesday event or is it #my current wip #When will I post either of them?#Idk I have to finish the first draft of omens then edit it #I'm editing the pirate king of deaths redemption as I go but I will need to flesh a few things out more once done and of course find the t #Yes I'm rambling in the tags versus the post

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muiitoloko · 6 days ago

Note

Is there anymore difficult woman coming soon🫣👀

Title: Through Gilded Bars

Summary: Caught between passion and betrayal, a young wife struggles to reconcile her resentment with the unexpected warmth of her husband’s love.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I finally managed to finish this chapter 😮‍💨

First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh, Eighth and Ninth part here.

Also read on Ao3

The next morning, the house was cloaked in a rare, serene quiet. The rhythmic patter of rain on the windows had softened to a gentle drizzle, and the faint scent of damp earth wafted through the window of your shared bedroom. You stirred awake, the warmth of the duvet enveloping you as you became aware of the solid presence beside you.

Karl was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily, the faint gray light of dawn casting soft shadows on his chiseled face. The gray hair at his temples glinted in the light, his mustache twitching faintly as he dreamed. His strong arm was draped possessively across your waist, holding you close as though even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You gazed at him for a moment, your mind replaying the events of the night before. The intensity of his touch, the vulnerability in his words—“I love you so fucking much”—lingered in your memory like a brand. You had never imagined this dynamic, this strange pull between you and Karl, could evolve into something so intimate, so tender, and yet so consuming.

Careful not to wake him, you slipped out of bed, grabbing a robe from the chair and tying it loosely around your waist. Your legs felt weak, your body sore in unfamiliar places, a reminder of the night’s passion. A soft blush crept up your cheeks as you glanced back at Karl, his face relaxed in sleep, looking younger and almost innocent.

You padded quietly to the bathroom to freshen up, splashing cold water on your face to steady the whirlwind of emotions still coursing through you. As you toweled off, a thought struck you—what now? What did last night mean for your marriage, for the tenuous relationship you had been navigating with this man?

The answer seemed both simple and impossibly complex. You couldn’t deny the connection that had formed between you and Karl, but what terrified you was the depth of it. How quickly the walls you had built around your heart had crumbled under the force of his devotion.

When you returned to the bedroom, Karl was awake, propped up on one elbow, his hazel eyes tracking your every move. His gaze was soft, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips as he watched you.

“Good morning, liebling,” he said, his baritone voice rough with sleep but warm with affection.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice quieter, still unsure of how to navigate this new intimacy.

Karl patted the space beside him, his smile widening slightly. “Come here,” he said gently.

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the belt of your robe, but the vulnerability in his expression softened you. Slowly, you crossed the room and slid back into bed beside him. Karl immediately pulled you into his arms, his embrace firm and comforting, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“How do you feel?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine concern.

“Sore,” you admitted with a shy smile, your cheeks flushing as you avoided his gaze.

Karl chuckled softly, the deep rumble of his laughter sending a pleasant shiver through you. “That’s to be expected,” he said, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your arm. “But I meant... in here.” He placed a hand gently over your heart, his hazel eyes searching yours for any hint of unease.

You swallowed hard, your gaze dropping to where his hand rested against your chest. “I don’t know,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Last night was... a lot.”

Karl’s expression softened even further, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he tilted your face toward him. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I want you to know that nothing has to change unless you want it to. You’re still in control, schatz. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice took your breath away. For a man who was so used to control, to power, Karl’s willingness to let you lead this new dynamic was both surprising and deeply touching.

But the soft, tentative warmth of the morning faded the moment you shook your head and slipped out of Karl’s arms. The air seemed to chill between you as you adjusted your robe, the knot at your waist tightening with the same tension building in your chest. You turned away from him, your shoulders stiff with resolve.

“What’s wrong, liebling?” Karl’s voice, rough from sleep, cut through the quiet. He sat up fully, the sheets pooling at his waist, his hazel eyes narrowing as he studied you.

You glanced at him over your shoulder, lips pursed. “What’s wrong?” you repeated, your tone sharp as you crossed the room to the window. The drizzle outside mirrored the storm inside you. “What’s wrong, Karl, is that I let myself forget who you are—what you’ve done.”

Karl sighed heavily, the sound carrying both frustration and a hint of guilt. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the weight of his body causing the mattress to creak. “I thought we were past this,” he said quietly, his baritone voice laced with weariness.

You turned sharply, your arms crossing over your chest as you faced him. “You thought wrong,” you snapped. “You’re still the man who destroyed my father’s business—my family’s livelihood—just to get to me.”

Karl’s jaw tightened, his hazel eyes darkening with emotion. “I wanted to do things differently,” he said, his voice rising slightly as he pushed himself to his feet. He towered over you, his chubby frame imposing but somehow softened by the vulnerability in his expression. “I wanted to court you properly, but your father wouldn’t let me near you! He called me unworthy, threatened to send you away.”

You scoffed, stepping closer to him, your chin tilted defiantly. “And that justifies what you did? Manipulating him, ruining everything he worked for? You didn’t just hurt him, Karl—you hurt me. You took away my choice.”

Karl ran a hand through his gray hair, his frustration evident in the way his fingers raked through the strands. “I rebuilt his business,” he shot back, his voice rough with defensiveness. “Your family is one of the richest in the region now because of me. I made things right.”

“It’s not about the money, Karl!” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger as you stepped closer, the intensity between you crackling like a live wire. “It’s about your manipulation. You didn’t ‘make things right.’ You decided what was right without considering anyone else—without considering me.”

Karl’s eyes dropped to your lips, his breath hitching as you leaned closer, your voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “You can’t buy my forgiveness, Karl. You can’t undo the damage you caused just because you feel guilty now.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer until your bodies were nearly touching. His hazel eyes burned with a mix of anger and desire, his voice dropping to a husky growl. “You think I feel guilty? No, liebling, I don’t feel guilty for wanting you. I’d do it all again if it meant having you in my bed, in my life.”

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his gaze, but you refused to back down. “And that’s exactly why I can’t forgive you,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Because you don’t see what you did as wrong. You think wanting me justifies everything.”

Karl’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly, his other hand moving to cup your cheek. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, his voice softening as his thumb brushed against your skin. “Everything I did, I did because I love you.”

“You don’t love me, Karl,” you shot back, your voice firm even as your body betrayed you, leaning slightly into his touch. “You love the idea of me. You love the control.”

He growled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his hazel eyes locked on yours. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you. And no matter how many times you argue with me, no matter how many sharp words you throw my way, I can’t stop loving you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours. “You can’t win this argument, Karl,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both defiance and something deeper, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

His lips curled into a small, self-deprecating smile, his breath hot against your skin. “I know,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “I never can. You’ve always had the upper hand, liebling. Always.”

Your lips parted, ready to fire back another retort, but Karl closed the distance before you could speak. His mouth captured yours in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and surrender, his hands pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

You hated the way your body responded, hated the way his touch made you weak, made you forget every reason you had to push him away. But as his lips moved against yours, as his hands roamed your body with a possessive tenderness, you couldn’t deny the pull between you—the magnetic force that always seemed to bring you back to him.

And Karl, for all his faults, knew he was powerless against you. Even as he tried to assert control, to bend you to his will, he found himself hypnotized by you—by your strength, your fire, your lips that could silence him with a single word or ignite him with a single kiss.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against your mouth, his voice a low, breathless growl. “You drive me mad, liebling. Do you know that? Every time you argue with me, every time you defy me, it only makes me want you more.”

You smirked, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Good. Maybe you’ll finally learn that you can’t always get your way.”

Karl chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin as he rested his forehead against yours. “With you,” he murmured, his voice full of reluctant admiration, “I never stand a chance.”

Karl’s baritone voice rumbled with satisfaction as he kissed you deeply, his strong hands sliding over your body with renewed hunger. “You’re mine, liebling,” he murmured against your lips, his tone thick with desire as he eased you back onto the bed. The warmth of his body enveloped you as he pressed his weight into you, one hand loosening the belt of your robe while the other tangled in your hair.

“Karl,” you began, your voice breathless but stern, “we shouldn’t—”

He silenced you with another fervent kiss, his mustache brushing tantalizingly against your skin. “Hush,” he growled, his hazel eyes dark with a primal intensity. “Let me worship you properly.”

The cool air kissed your bare skin as your robe fell open, and Karl’s large, warm hands roamed over your curves with deliberate care. He lowered his mouth to your neck, his lips and teeth teasing the sensitive skin there. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered, his voice rough as his lips moved lower, tracing a heated path down your chest.

You arched into his touch, your body betraying the protests on the tip of your tongue. “You’re insatiable,” you scolded, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling as Karl’s mouth found the peak of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple.

Karl chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “When it comes to you, yes,” he admitted, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his touch firm and possessive. “You’ve ruined me for anything else, schatz.”

He shifted, aligning himself with you, and you gasped as he entered you in one slow, deliberate motion. The fullness of him was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you breathless. Karl groaned, his head falling to your shoulder as he began to move, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “So tight, so perfect for me.”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you moaned his name, the intensity of his movements leaving you trembling beneath him. Karl’s lips found yours again, his kiss bruising and hungry as he drove you both toward release.

When the two of you finally collapsed into a breathless heap, Karl pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his chest heaving with exertion. “Stay in bed, liebling,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’ll have Liselotte bring you breakfast.”

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue, and Karl dressed quickly before leaving the room, his expression smug and content as he descended the stairs to the dining room.

Karl entered the dining room with a spring in his step, his usual commanding presence softened by a rare smile. Johann was already seated at the table, sipping his coffee, while Elisabeth sat stiffly across from him, her face pale and drawn.

“Good morning,” Karl greeted warmly, taking his seat at the head of the table. He exchanged a knowing look with Johann, who raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“Did you sleep well, Karl?” Johann asked, his tone light but laced with curiosity.

Karl smirked, reaching for the coffee pot. “Indeed,” he replied, pouring himself a cup. “And I’ve had a wonderful morning, too.”

Johann chuckled, shaking his head, but before he could respond, Elisabeth abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. Her face was flushed, her expression unreadable as she excused herself hurriedly.

Karl’s brow furrowed as he watched her leave, concern flickering in his hazel eyes. “What’s wrong with Elisabeth?” he asked, turning to Johann.

Johann shrugged, feigning ignorance. “She hasn’t been feeling well,” he said vaguely, though his tone suggested there was more to the story.

Karl frowned, waving over Anna and Liselotte, who had been standing nearby. “Anna, find out what’s troubling Elisabeth and prepare some tea for her,” he ordered, his tone firm. “And Liselotte,” he added, turning to the younger maid, “take breakfast upstairs to my wife, along with some ointments to help with any soreness.”

Both women nodded quickly, hurrying to carry out his orders. Karl leaned back in his chair, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of Elisabeth’s sudden departure and the lingering satisfaction of his time with you. He took a sip of his coffee, his hazel eyes flickering with a mixture of concern and smug contentment.

As Johann continued to watch him with quiet amusement, Karl couldn’t help but smile, his thoughts drifting back to the woman resting in his bed upstairs. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew one thing for certain: you were his, and he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Liselotte was bubbling with excitement. As she helped you untie your robe and guided you toward the bathroom, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes alight with curiosity.

"You must tell me everything!" she exclaimed, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “What was it like? Did Herr Hoffmeister treat you well?”

You felt your face grow hot as you stepped into the shower, the warm water cascading over your skin, washing away the tension and soreness of the night. “There’s nothing to tell,” you said quickly, your voice wavering as you tried to maintain your composure. “It’s none of your business.”

Liselotte let out a dramatic laugh, covering her mouth as if to stifle her amusement. “Oh, don’t be modest, ma’am! The whole house heard you last night—and this morning too!”

Your hands froze mid-lather, your heart dropping into your stomach. “What?” you asked, turning to gape at her through the steamy haze of the bathroom.

“The walls in this house are thin,” Liselotte said with a smirk, her tone teasing but not unkind. “Anna and I could hardly believe it—Herr Hoffmeister’s bed is notoriously quiet. But with you, well…” She wiggled her eyebrows.

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, wishing the floor would swallow you up. “I can’t believe this,” you muttered. “It’s humiliating.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Liselotte said, her tone softening as she handed you a fresh bar of soap. “It’s perfectly natural. You’re married, after all. And, if I may say so, Herr Hoffmeister is a very lucky man. You’ve made him happier than I’ve ever seen him.”

Her words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. You busied yourself with rinsing your hair, avoiding her gaze as she chattered on. But eventually, her persistence wore you down.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, leaning against the cool tile wall of the shower. “If you must know… Karl was kind. He was careful and gentle. He made sure I was comfortable.”

Liselotte’s eyes widened with delight, and she clasped her hands together. “I knew it! Beneath all that sternness, Herr Hoffmeister has a heart after all.”

You gave her a wry look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s still the man who ruined my father’s business and forced me into this marriage.”

Liselotte tilted her head, studying you with a thoughtful expression. “Does it feel different now? Between you and Herr Hoffmeister?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. The warmth of Karl’s touch, the sincerity in his voice, and the way he had held you last night lingered in your mind, complicating your feelings. “I… don’t know,” you admitted finally. “I still hate him for what he did to my family—and to me. But not as much as before.”

Liselotte nodded, her expression encouraging you to continue.

“I hate feeling like a prisoner in this place,” you said, your voice softer now. “But somehow, it doesn’t feel as oppressive anymore. Karl… he’s not as cruel as I thought he’d be.”

Liselotte smiled knowingly as she handed you a towel. “Love works in mysterious ways,” she said, her tone teasing yet warm. “Maybe Herr Hoffmeister isn’t the villain you’ve made him out to be.”

You sighed, wrapping the towel around yourself as you stepped out of the shower. “Or maybe he’s just a villain who happens to be good at kissing,” you quipped, though the faint smile on your lips betrayed your conflicted emotions.

Liselotte laughed, helping you into a fresh dressing gown. “Either way, I think you’re beginning to see that life here isn’t so bad,” she said, her voice gentle. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll find a way to be happy.”

You didn’t respond, but as you made your way to the bedroom for breakfast, you couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she might be right. Whether you liked it or not, Karl had begun to chip away at the walls you had built around your heart—and that thought was both terrifying and oddly comforting.

The morning sunlight streamed softly through the lace curtains of your bedroom, casting a warm glow over the cozy space. You sat in bed, a tray balanced carefully on your lap. A small feast had been prepared for your breakfast: freshly baked bread, an assortment of cheeses, slices of cured ham, and a steaming cup of coffee. Beside the tray sat a small collection of jars, their labels handwritten in elegant script. You picked one up, examining the thick glass and its contents, curiosity piqued.

“What are these?” you asked, holding the jar up for inspection. You removed the lid and sniffed the contents, the sharp scent of mint filling the air.

Liselotte, busy rifling through your wardrobe, glanced over her shoulder. She held a flowing cream-colored dress in one hand and a light blue one in the other, her brow furrowed in concentration. “The ointments are to help with the bruises and soreness, ma’am,” she said absently, her tone almost casual, as though this were an everyday occurrence.

You raised an eyebrow, your hand instinctively brushing over your hip, where Karl’s firm grip had left a faint ache. “Bruises?” you asked, chewing on a piece of bread.

Liselotte smirked, setting the cream dress aside and holding up the blue one against the light. “Well, I heard the headboard was doing most of the heavy lifting last night,” she teased. “And judging by how loud the two of you were, I’d say Herr Hoffmeister wasn’t exactly gentle.”

Your cheeks flushed crimson, and you quickly lowered your gaze, fumbling with the jar in your hands. “I don’t need a play-by-play,” you muttered, though the corner of your lips twitched in amusement despite your embarrassment.

Liselotte laughed softly, finally deciding on the blue dress. She laid it across the chair by the vanity before turning her full attention to you. “If it helps, the ointment works wonders. Anna swears by it—used it after her back gave out from scrubbing the floors last winter.”

You nodded, uncapping the jar again and dipping your finger into the cool, smooth substance. The minty aroma was soothing, and as you rubbed a small amount onto your wrist, you felt an immediate cooling sensation. “It’s nice,” you admitted, setting the jar back on the tray.

Liselotte clapped her hands, a playful grin on her face. “I told you! Herr Hoffmeister spares no expense when it comes to your comfort.”

You rolled your eyes, not believing Liselotte’s exaggerated claims, but you humored her with a small smile, tearing off a piece of toast and handing it to her. “Here,” you said, shaking your head. “Take this and hush. You’re like a hen clucking in my ear.”

Liselotte accepted the toast with a mischievous grin, but she wasn’t deterred. If anything, her enthusiasm grew. “Oh, no, no, ma’am,” she said, biting into the toast and waving a hand for emphasis. “You don’t understand! Herr Hoffmeister went mad preparing for your arrival. He wanted everything perfect.”

You arched an eyebrow, leaning back against the headboard as you sipped your coffee. “Perfect?” you repeated skeptically, giving her a pointed look. “Karl Hoffmeister doesn’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

Liselotte let out a dramatic laugh, nearly choking on her toast. “Sentimental? No, perhaps not. But determined? Oh, absolutely. You should have seen it, ma’am. The whole household was in a frenzy! He had the entire garden replanted just for you.”

You blinked, taken aback. “The garden?”

“Yes!” Liselotte exclaimed, her eyes wide with excitement. She set the rest of her toast down and moved closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Do you think those roses just magically bloomed overnight? No, Herr Hoffmeister ordered them all imported—imported, ma’am—from some fancy place in Holland. He said they were the finest in Europe, and only the best would do for his bride.”

You stared at her, unsure whether to laugh or roll your eyes again. “You’re making this up,” you said, though your tone was more amused than accusatory. “Karl Hoffmeister doesn’t strike me as the type to fuss over flowers.”

Liselotte’s jaw dropped, her expression a mixture of shock and playful outrage. She set down her toast dramatically, brushing the crumbs off her hands before marching over to the bed. “You don’t believe me?” she gasped, clutching her chest as though you had wounded her pride. “After everything I’ve told you?”

You smirked, leaning back against the pillows. “Liselotte, it’s not that I don’t believe you,” you teased, “but Karl Hoffmeister obsessing over flowers? It’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

Liselotte let out an exasperated sigh and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of bed with surprising strength. “Enough of this nonsense!” she declared, her cheeks flushed with determination. “If you won’t take my word for it, I’ll show you myself!”

Laughing, you stumbled out of bed, clutching your robe around you as Liselotte dragged you across the room. “Liselotte, for heaven’s sake!” you protested, though there was no real anger in your voice. “I’m not even dressed!”

“Hush, ma’am,” Liselotte replied, waving off your complaints as she placed you firmly in front of the bedroom window. She pulled back the lace curtain with a flourish, gesturing dramatically toward the garden below. “There! Behold the fruits of Herr Hoffmeister’s labor!”

You rolled your eyes at her theatrics but humored her, peering out the window. The garden stretched out before you, a sea of vibrant colors and carefully curated blooms. Roses in every shade imaginable lined the pathways, their petals glistening with morning dew. Tall, stately tulips swayed gently in the breeze, their colors so vivid they looked almost painted. A wisteria vine climbed gracefully over an ornate archway, its purple blossoms cascading like a waterfall.

Liselotte pointed to a cluster of delicate white flowers near the fountain. “Those are snowdrops,” she said, her voice brimming with pride. “Imported directly from Holland. And those over there—” she gestured to a bed of vivid orange blooms “—are marigolds. Hans himself planted them!”

You blinked, surprised by the revelation. “He did all this… for me?”

Liselotte nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes! Herr Hoffmeister was very clear. He wanted everything to be beautiful, perfect, and meaningful. He said you deserved nothing less.”

You stared out at the garden, your fingers lightly gripping the windowsill. You had looked at this view dozens of times before, but it had always seemed like part of the prison Karl had built around you. The beauty of the flowers had been overshadowed by your resentment, their colors dulled by the bitterness in your heart.

But now, as Liselotte pointed out each bloom and explained their significance, you found yourself seeing the garden in a new light.

“Those roses,” Liselotte continued, her voice softening, “he said they reminded him of you—strong, beautiful, and resilient.” She gestured toward the wisteria arch. “And that wisteria? It’s a symbol of devotion. He insisted it be placed where you’d see it every morning.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you took it all in. The meticulous care that had gone into every detail, the thoughtfulness behind each choice… it was overwhelming. For the first time, you truly saw the garden, not as a gilded cage, but as a gift—a testament to Karl’s effort to make you feel at home, to make you feel cherished.

Liselotte’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You’re not a prisoner here, ma’am,” she said gently. “Herr Hoffmeister didn’t build this place to trap you. He built it so you’d feel like the queen of this estate.”

You turned to her, your eyes wide with emotion. “I’ve been so blind,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been so angry with him… I never stopped to notice.”

Liselotte smiled warmly, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s understandable, ma’am. But now that you see it, perhaps it’s time to let go of some of that anger. Herr Hoffmeister may be stubborn and overbearing, but his heart is in the right place.”

You nodded slowly, your gaze returning to the garden. The vibrant blooms seemed to shimmer with a new brilliance, their colors brighter than you had ever noticed before. You felt a small, unfamiliar warmth stir in your chest—a tentative hope that perhaps, just perhaps, Karl’s actions weren’t entirely selfish.

As Liselotte continued to point out the different flowers and their meanings, you found yourself smiling, truly appreciating the beauty of the garden for the first time. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to wonder if there could be more to this life with Karl than you had ever imagined.

Meanwhile, in her own bedroom, Elisabeth buried her face in the pillows, ignoring the tea Anna had carefully placed on her bedside table. The fragrant steam curled upward, but she didn’t care. Tea wouldn’t soothe the ache in her chest or silence the echo of Karl’s voice calling out your name.

Elisabeth curled her fingers into the soft fabric of the pillow, her nails digging into the material as if it could somehow absorb her frustration. Karl had broken her heart again without even realizing it, his obliviousness cutting deeper than a deliberate slight ever could.

It was cruel to love a man who didn’t love you back—crueler still when that man looked at another woman with the kind of devotion Elisabeth could only dream of. He didn’t see her. Not as a woman. Not as someone who could match his fire, his passion. To him, she would always be the little girl who trailed behind him in the gardens, begging to ride horses and hear his stories.

The memory made her stomach churn with humiliation. She could still hear the teasing affection in his voice as he ruffled her hair, calling her mein kleines Mädchen—his little girl. It had been years since then, and Elisabeth had grown. She was no longer the child he remembered; she was a woman now—a woman with desires, with ambition, with the determination to claim what she wanted.

And what she wanted was Karl Hoffmeister.

Elisabeth buried her face deeper into the pillows, her lips trembling as a fresh wave of tears threatened to spill. But amid the heartbreak, there was a spark of defiance, a smoldering flame fanned by the memory of something Karl had said to her days ago.

"All’s fair in love and war."

The words rang in her ears, looping endlessly in her mind until they became a mantra. At the time, she’d thought nothing of it. Now, the phrase took on new meaning, seeping into her thoughts like a poison—or perhaps an elixir.

If all was fair in love and war, then she wouldn’t give up. She wouldn’t stand by and let you win Karl’s heart without a fight. Karl might not see her now, but he would. She would make him see her—make him crave her—no matter what it took.

Elisabeth pushed herself up from the bed, her tear-streaked face hardening with resolve. She smoothed her dress, the silk clinging to her figure in a way she knew was alluring. Standing before the mirror, she studied her reflection, noting the flush in her cheeks and the brightness in her eyes. She was beautiful. She was desirable. And Karl would realize that soon enough.

But how? How could she make him look at her the way he looked at you? How could she shatter the image of the little girl he’d once known and make him see the woman she had become?

The answer was simple: she would seduce him. Slowly, deliberately, she would chip away at his defenses until there was nothing left but raw desire. She would play on his weaknesses, his unspoken fantasies, until he couldn’t resist her. And when the moment came, she would make him hers.

Elisabeth licked her lips, imagining the feel of his calloused hands on her skin, the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress. She could almost hear the growl of his voice, low and commanding, as he whispered filthy promises against her ear.

"You think you can tease me, mein Schatz? Think again."

Her breath hitched at the thought, heat pooling low in her belly. Karl was a man of control, but she had seen the cracks in his armor—the way his hazel eyes darkened with lust, the way his mustache twitched when he was holding himself back. She wanted to push him to his breaking point, to make him lose that ironclad restraint and take her the way she knew he wanted to.

"Do you know what you’ve done to me, Elisabeth?" she imagined him growling, his large hands gripping her waist as he pulled her flush against him. "I’ve been dreaming of this—of you—for far too long. Now that I have you, I’m never letting go."

Elisabeth shivered, the vivid fantasy leaving her breathless. She knew Karl would resist at first. He would try to cling to his sense of propriety, to the idea that you were the only woman for him. But she was patient. She would wear him down, inch by inch, until there was no room in his heart—or his bed—for anyone but her.

"You’re mine now, mein Liebling," she murmured to her reflection, her lips curving into a sly smile. "All’s fair in love and war, remember?"

With renewed determination, Elisabeth turned away from the mirror and rang the bell for Anna. There was much to do, and she couldn’t afford to waste time wallowing in self-pity. If Karl Hoffmeister wanted a war, then she would give him one. And this time, she had no intention of losing.

The kitchen was alive with the usual morning hustle. The warm scent of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee mingled with the faint aroma of herbs wafting from the simmering pots. Gustav, the head cook, worked with the precision of a master conductor, directing the staff like an orchestra.

Anna leaned against the counter as she polished silverware, her sharp eyes glinting with mischief. "I tell you, Gustav, with all the racket the bosses were making last night—and this morning too—it won’t be long before we see little ones running around here."

Hans paused in the middle of meticulously arranging a tray. He turned to Anna, his expression a mix of disapproval and exasperation. "Anna," he said sternly, his voice low and clipped, "it is highly inappropriate to comment on the personal lives of Herr Hoffmeister and his wife. Show some decorum."

Anna rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his reprimand. "Oh, lighten up, Hans," she retorted, waving a hand dismissively. "You’re acting like I’ve committed some great sin. Everyone knows the bosses are finally getting along. That’s reason enough to celebrate, don’t you think?"

Gustav chuckled from his position by the stove, shaking his head as he stirred a pot of soup. "I think Anna’s just eager to see babies crawling around the halls, making a mess of all her hard work."

Anna grinned, not the least bit offended. "And why not? This house has been far too quiet for far too long. A couple of chubby little Hoffmeisters would do us all some good."

Hans sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You’re incorrigible," he muttered, shaking his head. "First I’m chasing Frau Hoffmeister through the gardens at Herr Hoffmeister’s orders, and now the two of them are… rolling around in bed like a couple of lovesick teenagers. It’s confusing."

Anna’s grin widened, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Confusing? Oh, Hans, you should’ve heard them. It wasn’t just the bed creaking. I thought the headboard was going to come clean off the wall!"

Gustav let out a hearty laugh, nearly doubling over as he stirred the soup. "Anna, you’ll be the death of me," he said, his voice booming through the kitchen. "Poor Hans here looks like he’s about to faint."

Hans’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he straightened his posture, his composure slipping under the weight of Anna’s teasing. "This is a respectable household," he said stiffly. "We should not engage in such… crude speculation."

Anna smirked, unbothered by his admonishment. "Crude? Oh, come now, Hans. Even you must admit it’s nice to see Herr Hoffmeister with a smile on his face. He’s been brooding for months, and now he looks like a man who’s just won the lottery."

Hans opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. He closed it again with a huff, shaking his head as he resumed arranging the tray. "You’re impossible," he muttered under his breath.

Anna’s grin only widened as she picked up a cloth and began polishing the silverware with exaggerated vigor. "Call me what you like, Hans," she said, her tone playful. "But mark my words—before long, there’ll be little feet pattering through this house. And you, my dear butler, will be chasing after them just like you chased after Frau Hoffmeister."

The image of Hans, red-faced and flustered, running after mischievous children caused Gustav to laugh so hard he had to set down his ladle. Even Heinrich, the older stable hand who had just entered the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee, let out a deep chuckle.

Hans sighed again, though this time there was a faint, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t understand the dynamic between you and Karl—the constant push and pull, the fiery arguments followed by moments of intense passion. But one thing was clear: whatever was happening between the two of you was shaking up the household in ways no one could have predicted.

Upstairs, Liselotte was still bustling about your room, her chatter filled with excitement as she helped you dress. But even her enthusiasm couldn’t drown out the faint echo of laughter and clinking dishes from the kitchen below—a reminder that the staff had their own opinions about the newfound warmth between you and Karl. If only they knew how complicated things truly were.

The morning sun broke through the clouds, bathing the Hoffmeister estate in a soft, golden light. Inside his office, Karl sat at his mahogany desk, a thick pile of documents spread out before him. These were contracts and accounts from his factory—papers he had neglected for far too long. But now, with the estate quiet and his cousins in town, it seemed like the perfect time to focus.

Except he couldn’t.

Karl leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. His hazel eyes kept drifting to the door, his thoughts wandering upstairs to where you were resting. He had left you alone, wanting to give you time to recover and process everything. But the pull to check on you was growing stronger with every passing minute.

With a frustrated sigh, Karl tossed the pen onto the desk and pushed himself to his feet. He needed a break, and he needed to see you. His heart was a strange mix of concern and anticipation. He made his way upstairs, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. Reaching the bedroom door, he knocked softly before pushing it open.

The room was empty.

Karl’s chest tightened as a sense of déjà vu washed over him, memories of your attempted escape flooding back. He was about to call for Hans when Anna appeared in the hallway, carrying fresh linens.

“Anna,” he said sharply, his baritone voice tinged with urgency. “Where is she?”

Anna blinked, startled by his tone, before offering a reassuring smile. “She’s at the stables, Herr Hoffmeister. The puppy got himself into a bit of a mess playing in the mud. She insisted on washing him herself.”

Karl exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, relief coursing through him. “Thank you,” he muttered, his voice softening. He turned on his heel and headed downstairs, a wry smile tugging at his lips. Of course, you would be at the stables, caring for that little troublemaker.

The closer Karl got to the stables, the more he could hear your voice. It was soft but firm, tinged with amusement as you scolded Mouse. “Stay still, you little rascal! If you keep squirming, I’ll just leave you muddy.”

Karl chuckled under his breath, stepping carefully over the muddy puddles that dotted the path. As he entered the stable, the sight before him made him pause. You were crouched beside a wooden trough, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp from the humidity. Mouse, the tiny puppy, was a muddy mess, squirming as you tried to rinse him off with a bucket of water.

“You look like you’re losing this battle,” Karl drawled, his baritone voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Startled, you turned to see him leaning against the stable doorframe, arms crossed and a playful smirk on his lips. “If you’re just here to tease, Karl, you can leave,” you retorted, though the corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile.

Karl pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. “Nonsense. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you to handle this alone.”

Before you could protest, Karl crouched beside you, his larger hands easily holding Mouse in place. “Now, you focus on cleaning him. I’ll keep him still,” he said, his tone commanding but not unkind.

You huffed but obliged, scooping water from the bucket and pouring it over Mouse’s muddy fur. The puppy let out an indignant bark, shaking vigorously and splattering both of you with water and mud.

“Mouse!” you exclaimed, wiping your face with the back of your hand.

Karl let out a deep laugh, the sound rich and warm. “I think he’s winning,” he teased, his hazel eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Oh, really?” you shot back, grabbing a handful of water and flinging it at him. The droplets hit his shirt, leaving dark, wet splotches.

Karl’s eyebrows shot up in mock offense. “You dare?” he growled, scooping a handful of water from the trough and splashing it at you.

A shriek escaped your lips as the cold water hit your chest, soaking the front of your dress. “Karl!”

He grinned wickedly, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Fair’s fair, liebling.”

But you weren’t one to back down. Grabbing another bucket, you flung its contents at him, drenching his shirt completely. The fabric clung to his chest, revealing the broad, solid frame beneath.

Karl’s laughter rumbled as he retaliated, and soon the two of you were engaged in a full-blown water war.

The stable air smelled of hay, earth, and faint traces of rain. You and Karl were laughing so hard your sides ached, your laughter mingling with the sound of Mouse barking and darting between your legs. The bucket of water you had hurled at Karl left his shirt clinging to his broad chest, the wet fabric outlining the strong frame you’d been too angry to appreciate before.

At the back of the stables, Heinrich smiled to himself as he finished brushing a chestnut mare. His weathered hands moved in smooth, practiced strokes, his eyes glancing occasionally at you and Karl. The two of you were soaked, splashing water at one another like children, Mouse bouncing around and barking gleefully. The dog’s antics made Heinrich chuckle softly.

“Come here, Mouse,” he called, his deep, gravelly voice calm and familiar. Mouse hesitated for a moment before bounding over to him. Heinrich scooped the muddy pup into his arms, giving you and Karl a knowing smile as he exited quietly through the back. He’d leave you to enjoy this rare, unguarded moment.

With Mouse gone, Karl’s hazel eyes flickered with a mischievous light as he turned back to you. Water dripped from his gray hair, and his mustache was damp, giving him a slightly disheveled but oddly roguish appearance. “Now, liebling,” he drawled, his baritone voice low and teasing, “I believe you’ve drenched me enough.”

You raised your chin defiantly, unable to suppress your grin. “You deserved it,” you quipped, stepping back slightly, but your soaked dress clung to your legs, limiting your movement.

Karl’s gaze darkened as his eyes roamed over you, the wet fabric leaving little to the imagination. Your dress, now nearly transparent, hugged your curves, the swell of your breasts and the soft lines of your thighs clearly visible. His throat worked as he swallowed, his voice rough when he spoke. “You’re testing my patience, schatz.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smirk. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

Karl didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lunged forward, his large hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body contrasted sharply with the chill of your wet clothes, making you gasp. His hazel eyes burned into yours, and his voice dropped to a husky growl. “You’ve made quite the mess, liebling. Now, I think it’s time you cleaned it up.”

Before you could retort, his mouth captured yours in a searing kiss. It was rough, demanding, and full of the passion that had been building between you. His hands slid down your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as he pressed you against one of the wooden support beams.

“Karl,” you murmured breathlessly when he broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. His mustache tickled your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. You tried to maintain your composure, but the way his teeth grazed the sensitive spot below your ear made your knees weak.

He chuckled against your neck, the sound vibrating through you. “You can’t tease a man like that and expect to walk away unscathed,” he murmured, his hands sliding down to your thighs. With a swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

“Karl, we can’t,” you protested weakly, but your hands tangled in his damp hair, betraying your words.

“Why not?” he growled, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “No one’s here. Just you, me, and this stable.” His hands roamed your thighs, pushing your dress higher as he carried you toward one of the empty bays filled with fresh hay.

The world outside faded as he laid you down gently on the soft hay, his large frame hovering over you. His hazel eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and tenderness that left you breathless. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he traced a finger along your jawline.

Your heart pounded as you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his cheek. “And you’re insufferable,” you whispered, though your tone was soft, almost teasing.

Karl smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your body arch against him. His hands explored your curves, his touch firm but reverent as he peeled the soaked fabric of your dress away from your skin. Every inch of you that was exposed to the cool air was soon warmed by his touch, his lips following the path of his hands.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with need. “Every inch of you, mine.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your own desire flaring as your hands worked to unbutton his soaked shirt. The fabric clung stubbornly to his broad shoulders, but you managed to push it off, revealing the strong, slightly weathered body beneath. Your hands roamed over his chest, the warmth of his skin igniting a fire in your belly.

“Karl,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and need.

He silenced you with another kiss, his hips pressing against yours in a way that left no doubt about his intentions. His movements were deliberate, slow but confident, as he aligned himself with you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. When you nodded, giving him silent permission, he entered you with a slow, deliberate thrust that left you gasping.

The intimacy of the moment took your breath away. Karl’s usual dominance was tempered by an unexpected tenderness, his movements careful and controlled as he worshipped every inch of you. The hay beneath you was soft, the scent of earth and horses mixing with the faint saltiness of his sweat as you moved together, your bodies finding a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

His hands gripped your hips as he thrust deeper, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was almost desperate. “I love you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I love you so damn much.”

Your heart ached at the sincerity in his words, and you found yourself whispering his name like a prayer as the tension between you built to a crescendo. When release finally came, it was overwhelming, your cries mingling with his low, guttural groans as you clung to each other, your bodies trembling with the force of it.

For a long moment, the two of you lay tangled together in the hay, your breaths mingling as you slowly came back to reality. Karl brushed a strand of hair from your face, his hazel eyes soft as they gazed into yours. “You drive me mad, liebling,” he said softly, his voice filled with both amusement and affection.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “Good,” you murmured, your voice still breathless. “Someone has to keep you on your toes.”

Karl chuckled, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’ve done more than that,” he said, his tone serious now. “You’ve changed everything.”

As you lay in his arms, surrounded by the scent of hay and the fading warmth of your passion, you couldn’t help but feel that he was right. Everything had changed—and for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure that was a bad thing.

Karl’s body kept you warm, his broad chest rising and falling against your cheek as his lips brushed over your shoulder in slow, tender kisses. His mustache tickled your skin, drawing a giggle from you, though your mind was only half-focused on his attentions.

Your gaze wandered to the other stalls across from you. That’s when you saw it. The horses. They stood there, large dark eyes fixed on you and Karl, their heads poking out over the stall doors like curious spectators. One mare flicked her tail, her ears swiveling forward, while a large stallion gave a loud snort, shaking his mane as if in disapproval.

You froze, heat rising to your cheeks. "Karl," you hissed, your voice urgent but quiet.

He hummed lazily, clearly distracted as he kissed the curve of your shoulder. "Hmm?" His baritone voice was a deep rumble against your skin.

"Karl!" you repeated, a little louder this time. You grabbed the edge of the blanket he'd draped over the two of you, clutching it to your chest and trying to shield your bare body from view.

"What is it, liebling?" he asked, finally lifting his head to look at you, his hazel eyes still clouded with contentment.

You nodded toward the stalls. "The horses," you whispered harshly, your voice rising in pitch. "They're staring at us!"

Karl turned his head slowly, his brows furrowing in mild confusion. Sure enough, the horses remained unmoving, their unblinking eyes fixed on the two of you. One of them gave a soft whinny, as though in agreement with your observation.

Karl blinked, his expression blank for a moment. Then, to your disbelief, he burst into laughter—a deep, hearty sound that filled the stable. He leaned back slightly, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the absurdity of your concern.

"Karl!" you hissed again, your embarrassment deepening. "It's not funny! They're... they're watching us!"

He chuckled, his broad shoulders shaking with amusement. "Liebling," he said, his voice thick with laughter, "they’re horses. They don’t know what we’re doing."

"How do you know that?" you shot back, your tone defensive as you gestured wildly at the equine audience. "They look far too interested for my liking!"

Karl raised an eyebrow, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. "What do you think they’re going to do? Write a report? Tell Heinrich?"

You glared at him, your cheeks burning. "It’s not about what they’ll do, Karl. It’s the principle of the thing. They shouldn’t... see this!"

He turned to look at the horses again, this time with a more serious expression. He studied them for a moment, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as if he were considering your point. Finally, he let out a mock sigh and shrugged. "Well," he said, his tone deadpan, "I suppose I could have them moved to the other side of the estate if it bothers you that much. Perhaps Heinrich could arrange for some privacy screens."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "This isn’t a joke!"

Karl leaned closer, his warm breath brushing against your ear. "Oh, but it is, liebling," he murmured, his voice rich with amusement. "A very funny one."

You peeked at him through your fingers, your glare only making him laugh harder. His whole body shook with mirth, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny, grudging smile tug at the corners of your lips, despite your mortification.

Suddenly, a sharp cough interrupted the moment, and you both froze. Your heads whipped around to see Heinrich standing in the stable doorway, Mouse tucked under one arm and a bucket of water in the other. His weathered face was impassive, but his gray-blue eyes twinkled with barely concealed humor.

"I see the two of you have been... busy," Heinrich said, his voice gruff but tinged with amusement.

Karl cleared his throat, quickly pulling the blanket up to cover the both of you more modestly. "Heinrich," he said smoothly, though the faint pink tint in his cheeks betrayed him, "what can I do for you?"

Heinrich raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking between the two of you and the very muddy patch of hay you were lying on. "Just thought I’d bring Mouse back," he said casually, setting the puppy down. "Didn’t mean to interrupt... whatever it is you’re doing."

You buried your face in Karl’s chest, groaning in embarrassment. Karl, for his part, simply gave a small, sheepish smile. "Thank you, Heinrich," he said, his tone as dignified as he could manage under the circumstances.

Heinrich nodded, tipping his cap. "I’ll leave you to it, then," he said, his voice carrying a faint chuckle as he turned to leave. As he exited, you swore you heard him mutter, "Young love... always causing a mess."

Karl looked down at you, his hazel eyes filled with both amusement and tenderness. "Well, liebling," he said, his baritone voice low and teasing, "it seems we’ve given everyone in this stable quite the show."

You groaned again, swatting at his chest. "This is all your fault."

He laughed, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple. "I’ll take full responsibility," he promised, his voice warm with affection. "But I must say, it was worth it to see you like this."

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but smile, your earlier embarrassment fading in the warmth of his embrace. "You’re impossible," you muttered, though your tone lacked any real bite.

Karl chuckled, his hand gently stroking your hair. "And you, liebling, are irresistible," he murmured, his voice soft. "Horses and all."

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #karl hoffmeister x reader

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lividstar · 7 months ago

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ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ Masterpost

៚ wc: ✍️

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ To hope for a miracle while standing still and not doing anything to initiate any form of change is just about as foolish as avoiding the gaze of your phone screen while waiting for an app to download thinking such an action would make the waiting process any shorter. Upon learning this portion of the reality of life, you decide to break free from the confines of your hometown and move to Paris in hopes of a new season of your life unfolding. What’s un(fortunate) is you weren’t expecting your designated miracle to come in the form of a fashion designer named Kim Hongjoong.

started: june 30, 2024 | finished: ongoing

Chapter One: A Change (wc: 9k)

🍂 Moving to Paris in order to leave your past in Arcadia Bay had been a long-term goal for a while now, and you were more than excited to finally have this dream of yours within your grasp. Of course, things won’t always turn out well consistently, and you had to be reminded of this in the worst way possible.

Chapter Two: Unexpected Encounters (wc: 8k)

🍂 You were now on your fifth job hunt for the week, and even though you were hoping for it to, for once, actually turn out to be a success, indifference spreads through you as the search concludes on a dead end once again. Just as you were about to head home, a sudden surprise catches up to you, nearly out of breath.

Chapter Three: Inspiration (wc: 4k)

🍂 The thought of entering the world of fashion and modeling seemed daunting, but you’d rather have your suffering come from getting perceived than not having at least a sufficient amount of money to make sure your last days won’t be spent in Paris. Looking through the stolen-but-not-really sketchbook in your possession for outfit inspiration, you’re caught in a state of shock when something you thought had finally left you behind suddenly came back to bite you. One question hung heavy in your mind: Why?

Chapter Four: A Pleasant Twist (wc: 5k)

🍂 What started as a plan for a quiet walk in the park quickly turned eventful when you bumped into Madame Dupont, who was heading out for groceries. Choosing to assist her instead, two occurrences you didn’t see coming saw the light of the day: A. Running into Seonghwa, and B. Receiving an offer from Madame Dupont to help with your upcoming casting.

Chapter Five: Consequences (wc: 8k)

🍂 During the high-stakes fashion casting, you impress the judges but are later alarmed to discover that the agency’s influential creative director is the owner of the sketchbook that not only did you accidentally take home, yet also used one of its designs as inspiration for your attire, leaving you fearful about the potential consequences for your budding career. As the weight of this realization sinks in, you can't help but worry how you would entangle the knots of the predicament you’re now under.

Chapter Six: A New Companion (wc: 5k)

🍂 The tension mounts as you anxiously await a message from the directors. A call from Seonghwa bringing you the not-so-good news of you passing the first round of the casting brings mixed emotions, and a walk in the park offers a brief escape from your spiraling worries. Returning home, you find comfort in the unexpected presence of Pompidou, Monsieur Frank’s mischievous feline. As the day of the callback arrives, the pressure intensifies, culminating in a nerve-wracking evaluation before Hongjoong and the casting panel.

Chapter Seven: Resolve (wc: 12.1k)

🍂 Seonghwa invites you to the serene local park where he delivers the exciting news that you’ve secured the modeling job, marking a significant step forward in your new life in Paris. However, as you bask in the joy of this achievement, a nagging concern about Hongjoong’s sketchbook lingers in your mind. By the time you get your first modeling gig, you form a plan to return it to him on the very same day, but the uncertainty of how he will react keeps you on edge. Could things possibly get any worse than they already are?

Chapter Eight: A Great Friend (wc: 11.5k)

🍂 Your day immediately turns eventful at the very second you open your eyes, receiving a congratulatory message from Hongjoong which was apparently because of your sudden popularity that skyrocketed overnight, following your first photoshoot. As you grapple with this sudden surge of attention, Seonghwa offers a welcome distraction by suggesting you assist Hongjoong with his designs for the upcoming autumn collection, all of which are still in progress.

Chapter Nine: May I Have This Dance? (wc: 10.3k)

🍂 The initial plan was to stay the night in Hongjoong’s art studio to finish one of his designs, but as one thread tangled itself into another and kept the chain going, a series of unexpectedly charming experiences began to unfold, one of which contains running an errand to buy flowers for Madame Dupont’s vases—the very event that led to you and Hongjoong enjoying a little sophisticated dancing session while moving to the soft melody of La Vie En Rose.

Chapter Ten: Push and Pull (wc: 4.6k)

🍂 The memory of what happened—or what had almost happened last night, still remained fresh in your mind. As a result, you find yourself on edge as you head to Hongjoong’s agency per Seonghwa’s request, still processing the events that had unfurled. Upon arrival, you notice Hongjoong acting distant, leaving you uneasy. Seonghwa, sensing your discomfort, tries to lighten the mood and catch up, but the tension lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of Hongjoong's sudden change in behavior.

Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter (wc: 8.2k)

🍂 Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

Chapter Twelve: Ma Meilleure Ennemie (wc: 10k)

🍂 The night is electric, filled with fleeting glances, moments of tension, and unspoken words hanging in the air. You find yourself caught in a delicate dance between the past and the present, as old wounds resurface in the most unexpected ways. But just when you think you’ve built a wall strong enough to keep it all out, everything comes crashing down. Who can you trust when even your own heart feels like a stranger? Will you finally face what’s been lurking in the shadows, or will you keep running, hoping the past will stay buried? The answers are closer than you think—but are you ready to hear them?

🪞 — lividstar.

#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar．#kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #ateez fluff #hongjoong fluff #ateez angst #hongjoong angst #park seonghwa #jung wooyoung

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damn-stark · 14 days ago

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Epilogue

Epilogue for Moonlight

A/N- You are all so loved by me thank you!! I hope you like it!!

Warning- Some angst, FLUFF!!!! Talks of death, SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- Past 578

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*SEVERAL YEARS AGO. WINTERFELL*

“I need you to close your eyes now,” Cregan commands with his eyes glimmering under the cloud littered sky, while seven-year-old Rickon and five-year-old Aerion start to giggle, piquing your curiosity that much more while also making you wary.

“Why?” You probe with your eyebrow raising.

Cregan shrugs, refusing to give you a hint as to why he’s brought you out to the gardens.

“I need to show you something, but it’s a surprise that you cannot spoil.”

“Well if I walk in so you can show me I will spoil it—”

“Just close your eyes,” Cregan cuts off your witty remark, causing you to drop your head to hide your teasing grin.

“Yes, mama, just close your eyes, it's a surprise!” Aerion exclaims as he jumps up and down.

You blink and drift your eyes up to dig your eyes into your son. “Have you seen it?”

Aerion giggles and Rickon quickly covers his mouth to avoid having Aerion say what it is. However, Aerion pulls his stepbrother's hand off his face and gives you a response. “Father showed us.”

You hum and flash them both a small smile before you roll your head up and sigh deeply before closing your eyes. “I am trusting you two boys to lead me and your unborn sibling to the surprise,” you let the boys know as you finally give in.

“We won’t make you or our brother fall,” Rickon assures you as he grabs your hands first, causing Aerion to mimic him by grabbing your other hand.

“Ah, so you want another brother?” Cregan asks his son as he starts to lead the way inside the gardens, making the boys carefully pull you after him.

“I want only brothers. Daenys and Daenerys are the exceptions because they were already born before I could decide,” he says as if he has any say whatsoever over the gender of his sibling forming in your belly. It’s adorable that he’s so insistent on his desire though, you have to giggle.

“Well if the gods are good you’ll have many brothers,” Cregan tries to reassure his son, making you scoff as you hear the keyword “many”; does he finally accept the vision the red priestess told you about you having seven kids? As of now, you have four, and the fifth one is on the way, which leaves two more if the red priestess is right (which she is).

“You will have many siblings Rickon,” you tell the boy too with more certainty. “Seven in total.”

“Do not start,” Cregan warns you lightheartedly, but you only laugh knowing that you will in fact continue to bring up that vision.

“Now are we almost there?” You add impatiently. “I’m growing quite eager.

“Just about,” Cregan tells you, making you sigh before Aerion suddenly starts picking up his pace as he squeals.

“It’s there!”

“Aerion! Wait!” Rickon calls out after his brother and quickly matches his pace, causing you to be dragged ahead. And rather than telling the boys to slow down so you wouldn’t risk falling, Cregan begins to laugh before you hear his footsteps against the ground quicken too.

Once you finally make it to a stop, you giggle out of excitement and Cregan quickly exclaims. “Don't open your eyes just yet.”

You pout and drop your head. “Come on, the suspense is killing me! I must know!” You whine.

Cregan falls by your side, you hear his footsteps and the fabric of his clothes as he does. The boys proceed to let your hands go and one of them seems to have plucked something out of place, you can hear them well since you can’t use your vision.

“I’m going to put this in your hand,” Cregan fills the short silence as he grabs your hand and raises it off your side to extend it out with your palm facing the sky. Shortly thereafter before you can throw out another impatient question something smooth and round is placed on your hand that you can easily identify as a rose's head.

“Ah, well since we are married, you cannot be asking for my hand, so…”

“You can open your eyes now,” Cregan fills your silence, making you slowly peel your eyes open and blink to get your eyes used to the clarity before you raise your head and immediately feel your breath catch in your throat as you see the surprise that Cregan has for you.

“This surprise has been in the making for quite a while now,” he shares as he watches you with his grey eyes missing that brewing storm as they’re completely captivated by your reaction—“I wanted everything to be just right, with no details wrong or missing.”

Tears cloud your vision and that breath you’re able to catch shudders as it unfurls out of your nose. Aerion and Rickon are excitedly watching your every reaction, waiting for what you'll respond with, but you can’t muster a word. They’re lucky you’re even conscious, your shock, awe, excitement, and joy are swirling so fast that you think you’ll pass out with it all overwhelming you.

“Father said it would be impossible to have Astraea done the size she is,” Rickon explains, making your eyes shift to the small hatchling-sized Astraea carved there on your stone shoulder.

Yes…the statue right in front of your eyes is you. Yes, the intricate and tall marble statue in the middle of a bunch of Blue Winter Roses is you. The carved eyes, the carved hair, the carved lips, and the carved hand that extends out to ask for an offering is all you. You. You, and you. You were made into a marble statue.

“Why?” You finally speak and Cregan quickly enters your peripheral view before he cups the back of your hand and moves your hand forward so you can drop the blue rose on the palm of your carved hand forever frozen in place.

“Because well…” he pauses and sighs. “I love you and I want my love for you to be seen by every single descendant that will come down the line. They need to know how much I love you. Plus the gardens needed something that would always make them beautiful.”

Tears roll down your burning face and your thumping heart only keeps skipping beat after beat. The two boys see the tears running down the curve of your cheeks and Aerion hugs your legs first before Rickon follows.

“Mama,” Aerion’s voice travels to your ears. “Do you like it?”

You caress Astraea’s marble head and then run your fingers down her body forever wrapped around your neck before you lift your hand and let your fingers hover over your cheeks as you’re still in disbelief at what you’re seeing.

“I love it,” you whisper breathlessly and then let your fingers meet the cold marble before finally finding Cregan’s gaze and offering him a tender smile that matches the affection in your eyes.

“Thank you. I will forever be grateful,” you share what you can muster to put into words before you reach your hand out for him, making him close the gap between you so you wouldn’t move the boys out of place, and so you can twist your body to wrap your arms around him.

“I love you,” you whisper against his chest. “I will always cherish it.”

Cregan cradles the back of your head and you nuzzle your face into his chest, making him press a gentle kiss on the top of your head before he whispers, “I will always love you. Now everyone will know it.”

You grin and feel a wave of pride at the thought of it.

——

*A HUNDRED YEARS LATER. DAENERYS. WINTERFELL*

What is it about this cold frigid weather that the people like so much? They’re so proud of the cold and wet snow, but she can’t figure out why that’s so. Don’t they like the warmth embracing their skin? Don’t they like long days where the sun dances in the sky for longer than an hour? Or do they prefer this weather because it keeps everyone inside and close to one another to seek warmth and company?

She watches everyone gathered in the hall after having dinner in honor of her arrival. She sees them avoiding being outside to share stories, laughs, drinks, and dances, and she wonders if this is what they seek from this cold weather.

She can imagine it being so but she doesn’t understand it, the unity, because she never had it. Daenerys never was able to grow up surrounded by her family. She only had her brother, but they were never rich with community.

If her family were still alive she can imagine they’d prefer the hot weather so they could soak in the sun just as her dragons do, so they would never live here, but they would laugh too. They would share bizarre stories of beautiful dragons, glorious wars, recklessness, and histories. They would also gather around in huge halls and listen to traditional Valyrian music to dance to, maybe even sing just like her brother Rhaegar sang.

It would be so beautiful and full of life and full of people who were like her and wanted to talk to her. She wouldn’t be lonely watching from the table. She would be gawked at with admiration instead of fear. It would be warm…

Alas, she could only imagine such things the same way she always had since she could remember because they’re all gone. Every single one of them except for her, but she knows one person is not enough to rebuild that long-lost community, so she’s left envious of the bond the Stark’s have.

And she feels bad for letting such a twisted feeling get a hold of her, but she can’t help it when she sees everything they have even after all the loss. And yes, Daenerys has her dragons, she's grateful and loves them, but she also has a home made of rubble…and she stands alone in the middle.

“I am going to get some air,” she lets Missandei know before getting out of her seat and then peering back to glance at her trusted friend and advisor. “It’s quite alright Ser Jorah, I will be alright.”

The man doesn’t argue even if he wants to, he just watches her leave with guards trailing behind her. And not so much later someone follows her outside without her knowing, like a stalking wolf.

“Your Grace!” A call gets carried out through the bitter air, catching Daenerys’ attention and bringing her to a stop to turn on her heels and come face to face with Jon Snow, or as his people call him, King of the North, but she doesn’t address him as such, offering him a tightlipped smile instead.

“It's cold out here. You shouldn’t linger out too long,” he offers some lighthearted advice to start the conversation.

“I just needed some air,” Daenerys explains without that same emotion clinging to her voice. Not because she dislikes his presence, more so because she sees him now and sees everything she doesn’t have.

“Are you heading inside soon? Or do you still need more air?” He asks teasingly, causing the corner of her lips to twitch up but not fully form into that genuine smile just yet.

“I might stay out here longer.”

He nods stiffly and glances at an archway before he meets her gaze with a change in his eyes. “Good. Would you accompany me to the Gardens? I have something I have been meaning to show you.”

Daenerys debates the choice between giving in or denying the invitation. She does have nothing better to do but return to the hall and continue to be a little envious or stay out here all by her lonesome.

“You will like it,” Jon tries to sweeten his offer to tempt her into agreeing, and after a second longer that seemed like a dragging hour, she sighs deeply and offers him an agreeing nod, bringing a faint smile to his face before he points his hand to the archway before he leads the way through the large grounds.

When they arrive at the archway that leads to the gardens, Daenerys can’t help her awe as she sees that the gardens aren’t surrounded by the free and wild air, but it’s protected and surrounded by glass. Its entirety as far as she can see is all protected from the natural elements by glass, providing warmth against the bitter air.

“It’s all glass?” Daenerys muses, making Jon nod and hum as he falls by her side to continue leading the way at her side now. And this time Daenerys is far more curious and captivated by the sights of the gardens thriving thanks to its protective glass.

“The glass is used to help us grow food for winter and summer snows,” Jon shares while Daenerys takes back everything she had begun to assume about the gardens. She had thought there would be no life, that it wouldn’t compare to the gardens in Meereen where the sun is out and blazing and the water isn’t frozen, but she’s wrong and maybe it is because she’s having a hard time adjusting to this bitter climate with nothing but grey skies, but she’s wrong. She can see that the gardens here are special and truly unique with strong flowers and trees still bearing their fruit and green leaves.

“Just over here,” Jon lets her know as her eyes dart from plant to plant with curiosity, causing her to miss what exactly he’s leading her to until they finally come to a stop in front of a towering marble statue that begins to cast a large shadow over her as the sun begins to peek out of the white skies.

As Daenerys drags her eyes up the towering marble statue she begins to realize that it’s a statue of a woman forever bearing a long flowing gown that she holds the skirt of with the tip of her marble fingers. The end of the gown and the way it flows down the statue's body looks like a wave; that’s how precise and intricate the statue is. Yet she soon comes to realize that her gown isn’t the most fascinating thing about her. There’s a dragon as big as a hatchling forever wrapped around the woman’s neck.

That’s right…a dragon.

Why? She wonders and scales her eyes up, feeling her breath catch as she sees the way the sunlight captures the face of the woman almost as if the sun just wanted to shine for her. And why wouldn’t it? Even though the woman is a statue she can note how breathtakingly beautiful the woman is. She’s truly ethereal and will forever be so. However, why doesn’t she look like a Northerner?

Even though the woman’s delicate features are forever captured in marble, Daenerys can note the difference considering she’s currently surrounded by Northerners, and the woman bears no resemblance. She actually looks familiar in a sense, but why would she? And why is Daenerys so captivated by her and her alone? She barely notices the beautiful Winter Roses surrounding the statue, or the hand stretched out holding a wilting Blue Rose.

“Arya and Sansa…like to come and give her a flower,” Jon shares as he removes the Blue Rose out of the statue's hand and drops it on the ground. “Both for entirely different reasons but it seems they still like to do it.”

“Who is she?” Daenerys finally finds her breath and thoughts to voice her question.

Jon drifts his gaze away from Daenerys to look at the statue and speak your name, giving Daenerys a hint as to who you are, but not the exact answer just yet, so Jon proceeds and this time looks back at Daenerys to keep watching her admiration. “She was the granddaughter of King Viserys Targaryen, and daughter to his eldest child, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Daenerys recognizes the names from the books she’s read about her family and finally starts to piece you together.

“On her shoulder is her dragon…”

“Astraea,” Daenerys finishes for Jon and finally raises her hand to brush her fingers on the dragon's head as she speaks your name before she shares what she knows. “She’s the eldest daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. She was born sick so the Maesters did not know if she’d live. That is until passed the age she was supposed to die. And unlike her brothers, her first dragon egg failed to hatch so another egg was given to her and that one successfully hatched. Later in life, she married her uncle, but he died and she married his brother and became Queen for a short time. She was known as the Realms Golden Girl or The Sire of Driftmark, but she was also the last Dragonrider along with Lady Rhaena Targaryen…”

“Until you,” Jon adds, matching Daenerys softness as she trails off—“but there’s a lot more to the story,” he piques her attention, making her drop her hand to look at him, however, he averts his gaze and bends down to pick a flower from the bunch.

“She wasn’t just a Princess, dragonrider, or a Queen. Arya wouldn’t come visit her if she was just that. Her favorite flowers were also Blue Winter roses. That’s why she’s always surrounded by them,” he says while he pushes himself up and looks at the rose in his hand. “She was the only woman of your family to wield Blackfyre, your family's Valyrian Sword.”

Daenerys eyes fill with much more admiration as Jon goes on sharing things she missed? She never read that about you in any books she had.

“She fought in a battle whilst expecting twins. She actually fought in many battles, it's why men donned her ‘Blood Dragon’.” He says with an amused smile as he turns his body to face Daenerys and hands her the Blue Winter Rose he had plucked.

Daenerys admires the rose in her hand and its delicate and unique blue petals.

“She was graceful. She loved the sea and was an exceptional singer. She was Funny. Fierce. Strong. Egotistical. Tactical. Charming. Loving. Adventurous. Proud. And so beautiful that no sun, star, or moon could ever compete.”

Daenerys giggles and then her eyebrows pinch together. “How do you know so much?” She asks.

Jon sighs with a smile on his face. “Along with the book of the Conquerors. Arya made me read the book the Princess’s husband wrote for her. You see she was married to Lord Cregan Stark.”

Daenerys blinks in surprise and shakes her head in disbelief because nothing she read ever said any of what he just said.

“Lord Cregan Stark loved the princess so much that he had a statue made for her as a display of his love for her, and had it live here,” Jon adds with a sense of admiration as he looks back at the statue. “She lived and died here. Her dragon died a day after her probably due to heartbreak, or so that’s what Lord Cregan wrote. Her ashes were spread in the sea and it was after she died that Lord Cregan wrote her book so she may be remembered by who she really was and not what the Maesters painted her as; a mere woman in a man’s story. And maybe she wanted it that way…to be forgotten, but Lord Cregan couldn’t let her be forgotten.”

Daenerys looks back at your statue, and admires you for who you really were; as someone grande and exceptional and not the simple princess written by maesters that never met you. She looks at you like you are something rather than nothing.

“Oh,” Jon interjects and glances at her. “And she was immune to fire too.”

Daenerys eyes shine brighter and an awe-struck smile grows on her face. She had grown fond of you as Jon shared what he knew, but now with that last detail, that crippling loneliness vanishes here in the distant North as she feels like she has you; a Targaryen just like her. The only daughter, Queen, dragon rider, and a survivor.

Maybe you have been gone for a long time now, your bones have turned to ash and those ashes have vanished from this earth, leaving only a story of who you used to be, but she feels your presence now and embraces it.

“The book is still here,” Jon lets her know. “If you would like to read it.”

Daenerys smiles brightly and reaches over to leave the Blue Winter Rose on your wanting head before giving Jon an eager response. “I would love to read it.”

A/N- I would just like to thank everyone for supporting and following this story! It truly means a lot to me and you all mean so much to me too!! Thank you!

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

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tiiraameesu · 2 months ago

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The One That Got Away Pt. 2

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

PART ONE

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af

NOTESજ⁀➴ hi everyone! here's the next chapter of TOTGA ❀ to stay updated with new chapter releases, you can follow the tag #tiiraameesuTOTGA, or leave a comment below to be added to the tagline♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

wcજ⁀➴ 7.8k

taglineજ⁀➴ @kaemaybae @laviefantasie

The practice room was a blur of noise—normally something you’d lose yourself in, but today, it felt distant. The hum of the synthesizer, the steady beat of Choso’s drums, the rhythmic pluck of Nanami’s bass—they all blended together into background noise. You weren’t really hearing any of it.

Your fingers dragged across the strings, the notes flat and hollow as you strummed through the song again. The chords meant nothing, and you didn’t even know why you were still holding the guitar.

Iori’s voice cut through the music, soft and steady, but it barely registered. Naoya, hunched over his equipment to your left, twisted knobs and layered beats into the track with quick, precise movements. The flashing lights of his console pulsed, but the sound was just another thing happening in a vacuum—detached and distant.

Your thoughts drifted, tangled in the events of last night.

Gojo, his laughter echoing above the party’s music. Gojo, dancing with Mina like it was the most natural thing in the world. Gojo, pulling her close, his hands on her waist.

And then the kiss.

The memory hit you like a crashing cymbal. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was passionate, intentional—the kind you’d only ever dreamed of sharing with him. It was the kind that told you exactly where you stood: on the outside, looking in.

Your fingers faltered on the strings, and the wrong chord echoed sharply, cutting through the music like a wrong note on a piano.

Iori stopped singing, turning to you immediately. “Hey, you okay?”

You flinched, realizing everyone was now looking at you. “Yeah, sorry. Just slipped up,” you said quickly, trying to adjust your grip on the guitar.

Iori frowned, her dark eyes soft with concern. She set her microphone down, resting her hand on her hip. “You’ve been off all morning,” she said gently. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” you said too quickly, your voice tight.

Iori didn’t press further, though the look she gave you said she knew there was more. She straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans. “Alright, everyone, let’s take five before we start the next round,” she said, her voice light but firm enough to get the others moving.

The band began to disperse, Choso heading to grab water, Yu fiddling with his synth settings, and Naoya muttering something under his breath as he checked his laptop. Nanami leaned his bass against the wall and quietly stepped outside, likely for some air.

You made a beeline for the couch, slumping against it with a sigh. The soft cushions were a brief reprieve from the weight sitting heavy on your chest. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone, only to be greeted by a flood of notifications.

Gojo.

You hadn’t replied to his last five attempts to contact you, each message growing more puzzled, more curious. The first few had been typical Gojo banter. Then the messages started asking if you were okay. By the fifth, there was a shift—an underlying concern.

"Is everything okay?"

You could practically hear his voice in your head. His obliviousness, the way he never thought twice about things that might actually matter to someone else. Part of you wanted to throw your phone across the room just to stop seeing his name pop up again. But you didn’t. Instead, you sent a simple reply back, not giving him anything he could really latch onto.

"Busy with band practice. Catch you later."

It was the perfect excuse. You were always "busy." With the band. With your gig. It was enough to get him off your back, for now.

You threw your phone down on the couch, face down, determined not to let Gojo’s messages ruin this moment. As much as everything about him felt like an ache you couldn’t ignore, you wouldn’t let it distract you.

Time seemed to fly during the short break, but soon Iori’s voice cut through the silence as she clapped to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s get back to it. From the top, everyone!”

You lifted your guitar, the weight familiar in your hands. You should’ve been able to just lose yourself in the music, but today wasn’t one of those days.

The first few bars went smoothly, and for a moment, you thought you were breaking through the fog. But then the chorus hit, and everything fell apart. Your fingers faltered, the sound wrong, the chords foreign. The song didn’t flow, like trying to speak a language you once knew but had forgotten.

The music grew hollow, pulling your mind back to Gojo—his carefree laugh, that damn kiss. You thought of the way Mina had melted into his arms, the kiss that had felt so natural. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but it did. Each thought dug deeper.

The worst part? You couldn’t even make yourself hate him for it.

Your fingers froze on the strings. Another missed note.

“Stop.”

Naoya’s voice sliced through the tension in the room, louder than the failed chord ringing in the air. “What the hell was that?”

You looked up, startled by the sudden harshness in his tone. Naoya’s eyes were fixed on you, brows furrowed, his lips curling in a scowl. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach twist, a feeling of unease creeping up your spine.

“What do you mean?” you asked, though you already knew the answer. It was obvious you hadn’t been playing your best, but the sting of his words made you defensive.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he snapped, stepping closer, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. “You’re distracted, and it’s fucking up the whole song. This isn’t the time to be spacing out. We have a gig coming up, remember? This is supposed to be our shot.”

You could feel your chest tightening, the weight of his criticism hanging in the air. You didn’t want to feel this way—not with Naoya. He was always blunt, but something about the bite in his words felt like a punch to the gut.

“Give it a rest, Naoya,” Iori’s voice cut in, her tone quieter but still firm. “We all know she’s having a rough time today. Lay off.”

But Naoya wasn’t having it. He shot her a quick glance, then turned back to you, his expression hardening. “She’s having a rough time?” he repeated, his voice rising. “We all have rough times, but we still show up and do our part. This is important, and you—” He pointed at you, his finger trembling with frustration. “—are holding us back.”

Your fingers tightened around the neck of your guitar, a dull thrum of anger mixing with the frustration already brewing inside you. How could he possibly understand?

Naoya’s words hit you harder than they should have, stinging deep into a part of you that you couldn’t ignore. Your grip on the guitar tightened as if it could somehow steady the storm brewing inside you.

“You’re holding us back,” Naoya repeated, his voice sharp like a knife. “We can’t afford to have you slacking off, not now.”

Yu, who had been mostly silent up until that point, shifted uncomfortably. He adjusted the dial on his synth, casting a glance at the rest of the band before speaking up. “Naoya, maybe dial it back a bit, yeah? We all know she’s not in the best headspace, but yelling isn’t gonna help anyone.” His words weren’t defensive of you, but they weren’t exactly in Naoya’s corner either.

Choso, seated behind his drums, tapped one of the cymbals lightly with his stick before speaking in his usual low, rumbling voice. “We all have our days, man. Doesn’t help to turn this into a fight. Just play the damn song.”

But Naoya wasn’t ready to back down. He narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening in frustration. “You two are just gonna let this slide? We’re on the edge of something big, and she’s acting like she doesn’t care. She’s messing up, and it’s dragging us all down.”

You could feel the heat of his words burning through you. The anger swelled in your chest, mixing with the ache in your heart that you’d been trying to ignore. What right did he have to criticize you when he didn’t know what was really going on?

“Maybe if you didn’t make everything sound like the end of the world, I’d be able to focus,” you snapped, voice cold and sharp, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Naoya’s eyes flashed with irritation, and for a moment, you both just stared at each other. His lips curled into a sneer. “Yeah? Well, maybe if you actually gave a damn about this band, you’d stop fucking around. You think your problems are more important than the rest of us?” His words were venomous, laced with anger and something deeper—something raw.

But before either of you could escalate it any further, a voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

“Enough.”

The sharpness of Nanami’s tone cut through the tension in the room, freezing everyone in place. All eyes turned to him as he stepped forward, his expression unamused but not angry—more like someone who was simply done with the drama.

“Naoya, you’ve said your piece,” Nanami continued, his voice calm but heavy with authority. “Now shut it. This isn’t helping anyone. And you,” he continued, not softening his voice, but not harsh either, “stop letting whatever’s going on in your head mess with this. We’re all here for the same thing. If you’re going to be here, then be here. Focus.”

The weight of his words settled on you. He wasn’t yelling, wasn’t trying to drag either of you further into this mess. He just spoke like it was a simple matter of fact.

“This isn’t the time for personal drama,” Nanami added, his tone still clear but without a trace of malice. "We’ve got a gig to prepare for. Get it together."

The room fell silent. Naoya, though still visibly irritated, seemed to recognize the finality in Nanami’s words and stopped pushing. You took a breath, your chest feeling a little lighter. Nanami wasn’t sugarcoating anything, but he wasn’t piling on either. He was just being direct, reminding you all of why you were here in the first place.

Yu and Choso exchanged glances, both of them letting out quiet sighs of relief. The tension was still there, but it was more manageable now.

The silence hung in the room for a moment longer before Nanami broke it with a more relaxed, but still authoritative tone. "Alright, take a 15-minute break," he said, his eyes scanning the band. "Everyone take a step back, get your nerves settled. We’ll come back to this in a bit, but it’s clear we need to cool off before we get back into it."

There was a collective sigh of relief. Yu and Choso both took a step back, leaning against the wall and quietly talking amongst themselves. Iori fiddled with her mic stand, clearly giving the rest of you space, while Naoya just stood there, his posture stiff, but he didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t wait for the others to move. With your nerves still frazzled, you found the couch and collapsed onto it, running a hand over your face. You hadn’t even realized how tight your jaw had been until you released the tension with a soft exhale. Your mind was racing with everything that had been said, and despite the anger you felt bubbling beneath the surface, it was all a bit much.

Instinctively, your hand reached for your phone. You unlocked it without really thinking, the screen lighting up in the dim room. There was a missed call from Gojo. You cursed softly under your breath. The last thing you wanted was to talk to him right now—not with everything that had been going on. But you couldn’t deny the pull to hear his voice, even if the sting of seeing him kiss Mina still burned in the back of your mind.

Without thinking much further, you pressed “Call.”

The moment his voice came through the speaker, a part of you immediately softened. “Hey, hey! Finally pickin’ up, huh?” Gojo’s voice was a little more hyper than you’d expected, as if he was bouncing off the walls, and for a second, it caught you off guard.

“I was startin’ to think you’d forgotten about me or something!” he continued with a playful pout. “You left the party early last night, no goodbye, no nothing. What’s up with that? Did you not like my dancing or was the music not up to your standards?” He chuckled, as if teasing you, completely unaware of the unease swirling inside you.

You swallowed hard, forcing a light, breezy laugh. It’s fine, you told yourself, trying to shake off the knot in your stomach. It doesn’t matter. Just act normal.

“Ah, you know how it is,” you said, your voice coming out a little too bright, a little too cheery. You could practically hear the smile you were trying to fake. “I wasn’t feeling the best, you know how I can be with loud crowds.” You even threw in a little chuckle for good measure, hoping it’d cover up the sting that still lingered in your chest.

But Gojo didn’t pick up on the forced tone, of course. He never did.

“Aww, that’s a shame,” he said, his voice playful. “I thought you were having a good time! You should’ve told me, I would’ve saved you a dance. You know, I’m the best dancer at those things. You really missed out.” There was a cocky grin in his voice, and it made you want to roll your eyes even though you couldn’t help but smile despite yourself.

You sat back on the couch, trying to focus on Gojo's teasing, but your mind kept drifting back to the images of him with Mina. The playful tone of his voice almost seemed to mock the knot in your stomach, and no matter how hard you tried to push it down, you couldn't shake the way your chest tightened at the thought of them together.

With a quiet sigh, you leaned forward, your phone still pressed to your ear.

"Well, I didn't plan on staying all night, anyways," you said, trying to keep your voice light. "You know me—crowds and I don't always get along."

Gojo’s laughter rang through the phone, a little louder than before. "Next time, I’ll save you a dance," he teased. "You missed out, for real."

You chuckled softly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, next time,” you repeated, trying to keep the lightness in your tone, even though your mind immediately flashed back to the sight of Gojo dancing so close to Mina. The way he moved with her, effortlessly, the chemistry between them so obvious—it made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Stop it, you thought to yourself. It’s none of your business. You’re just being dramatic.

But no matter how hard you tried to shake it, the image lingered. You couldn’t help but picture him spinning Mina around, laughing, his hand low on her back, pulling her in close. There was something so… easy about the way they were together. So natural.

Gojo, however, didn’t seem to notice the shift in your mood. He was too busy playing the charming fool, oblivious as always.

You stood up slowly, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts, and made your way to the door.

As you walked toward the door, the sounds of the studio felt distant, like you were drifting away from them, seeking the brief peace of the hallway.

But then, just before you stepped out completely, you heard Naoya's voice from inside the studio. It was low, almost under his breath, but sharp enough to catch your attention.

"Yeah, maybe if you spent as much time on your notes as you do chatting on the phone, we wouldn’t be here all day," he muttered, the words barely loud enough for you to ignore, but sharp enough to get under your skin.

You froze, your hand on the door handle.

A surge of irritation bubbled up inside you, but you forced it down, knowing it wasn’t worth responding. You didn’t have time to get caught up in one of his petty comments, especially not now.

With a quick glance back at the studio, you let out a quiet breath and stepped outside, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall, just for a moment of peace—just enough to breathe. Gojo’s voice was a stark contrast to the tense silence of the studio, his words carefree and oblivious to everything that had been bubbling under the surface.

“So, are we still on for later?” he asked, completely unaware of the knot still sitting in your chest. “You know, after practice like usual? I thought we could grab dinner or something—at the convenience store. You in?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. The last thing you wanted to do right now was spend time with Gojo, especially after everything that happened last night. But despite the hesitation, the thought of seeing his face, the way his smile always managed to make everything feel lighter, pulled at you.

You could already imagine his playful grin, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, and the stupid, unexplainable flutter in your stomach every time he spoke to you.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice sounding a little too quiet, a little too unsure. But you pushed it down. “I’m in. I’ll see you after practice, okay?”

“Great!” Gojo’s cheer was immediate and overly enthusiastic, like you’d just agreed to go on an all-expenses-paid vacation with him. “I’ll be there in thirty. That should line up with when you’re done, right? I know your schedule better than you do.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile creeping across your lips. “Stalker much, Satoru?”

“Am not! M’just a great best friend.” He replied and you could hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke. “Anyways, I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Be ready to bask in my greatness.”

“Sure, can’t wait,” you said dryly, though his excitement chipped away some of the tension still lingering in your chest.

The call ended with a playful beep, leaving you alone with the soft hum of the hallway. You tucked your phone into your pocket, inhaling deeply before making your way back to the practice room.

You took one last deep breath, steadying yourself as you pushed open the door to the practice room. The chatter and clatter of everyone getting ready for another round immediately filled your ears, the energy in the room buzzing as usual.

Naoya caught sight of you as you stepped in. His eyes narrowed briefly, the usual smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, look who finally decided to rejoin us,” he said with a tone dripping in sarcasm. “I figured you’d still be out there, busy on your phone with your friend, instead of keeping up with your notes like you should.”

You clenched your jaw, the irritation from earlier creeping back. Before you could open your mouth to retort, Iori, who had been nearby, shot a sharp jab to Naoya's side, sending him stumbling a little.

“Knock it off, Naoya,” Iori muttered, her voice low but firm. “Not everyone spends their whole life under a microscope like you.”

Naoya shot her an irritated look, but Iori’s usual no-nonsense attitude had managed to shut him up for the moment.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. As much as you hated to admit it, you appreciated Iori’s timing.

Just then, Nanami glanced up from where he’d been tuning his guitar, his gaze turning toward you with that calm, almost calculating look he always had. “Ready for another round?” he asked, his voice steady and even. His presence had a way of grounding you, always somehow making things feel just a bit more manageable.

You nodded quickly, your breath steadying as you mentally prepared for another round of practice. "Yeah," you said, your voice coming out a bit breathy but confident. You grabbed your guitar, adjusting the strap over your shoulder. The familiar weight of it brought you back to your element, where everything else faded into the background.

Nanami, bass in hand, gave you a small, reassuring nod as his fingers started to slide over the strings. The deep, rich tones of the bass filled the room, grounding everything, and Iori, standing front and center with her mic, was already singing a few warm-up notes under her breath.

Choso, behind the drums, cracked his knuckles before taking his seat. He glanced your way, offering a brief smile before letting the sticks rest lightly in his hands, ready to hit the snare. Yu, standing by his synthesizer, was already tapping at the keys, humming along quietly to himself as he adjusted the sound levels. Naoya, being Naoya, was fiddling with his DJ equipment, testing out the next track or whatever his role was this time.

As always, you were the one to bring the electric spark to the group. You adjusted your fingers over the strings of your guitar, a sense of focus washing over you as the rest of the band began to sync. Maybe it was hearing his voice just now, or maybe just the familiarity of the music, but it felt a bit easier to let go now. The chaos of the day and the undercurrent of frustration faded as your hands moved over the fretboard.

Iori caught your eye for a brief second and, with her usual fiery energy, nodded toward you. She shot a quick wink as she raised her mic. "You ready, guitar hero?" she teased, her voice still smooth as silk, but with that playful edge you were all too familiar with.

You gave her a small grin and strummed a chord. "Yeah, let's do this."

Nanami's bass throbbed, the beat of Choso's drums kicked in, and Yu’s synth melodies began to echo through the room. Naoya hit the button on his DJ equipment, the crisp sound of beats layering over the instruments as the song began to take shape.

With a few final adjustments, you let your fingers fly across the fretboard, the strings vibrating with each strum. Music filled the air, and for that brief moment, everything outside of the band—the tension, the distractions, the stress—vanished. The only thing that mattered now was the sound.

The music built steadily, each layer blending effortlessly with the next. Nanami’s bass pulsed like a heartbeat, steady and sure, while Choso’s drumming added sharp, driving energy. Yu’s synths shimmered in, wrapping around the melody, and Naoya’s samples wove through it all, giving the track its signature edge. Iori’s voice soared above the instrumental, smooth and steady, like it had always been meant to blend with the rest. You leaned into the groove, the guitar feeling like an extension of yourself, as if the music was pulling you forward with every note.

When the last notes faded, silence settled over the room, broken only by the soft hum of the equipment. The band had done well today. And for the first time, the guitar had felt right, the strings humming under your fingertips, as if they were just a little more in tune with you than they had been before.

You didn’t think you’d played it perfectly—there were still moments where you stumbled, where your fingers missed a beat, or the rhythm wasn’t quite right—but it felt like you were getting closer. Maybe it was the focus you had finally found, or maybe it was the call with Gojo that had calmed your nerves, but your playing had finally come with a little more ease. For once, you felt like you could actually breathe while playing, instead of getting caught up in the pressure and self-doubt.

“Well done, everyone,” Iori said, her voice bright as always. She flashed a grin your way, nodding with approval. “That sounded killer.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Yu added, his voice soft but content. He adjusted his headphones, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the synth keys, a gesture of satisfaction. “We’re getting there.”

Choso, pulling himself out of his seat, stretched his arms above his head before chiming in. “I think this is it. We just need a bit more polish,” he said, his tone casual but upbeat. “Great work today, though.”

Nanami gave you a brief, silent nod as he packed away his bass, his expression calm but pleased. It was rare for him to show much outward emotion, but you could tell he was satisfied.

Iori grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, looking toward the door. “Well, I’m off. Got plans with the crew later,” she said, giving you a wink before heading toward the hall. Yu followed shortly after, adjusting his jacket with a content sigh. “Same here. See you at the next rehearsal,” he said with a smile, his voice still carrying that laid-back ease. Choso stood, picking up his drumsticks and slinging his bag across his shoulder. “Bye,” he said simply, before heading out the door.

Nanami was the last to leave, offering you another silent nod before grabbing his own things and following the others down the hall.

The usual warmth of the band lingered in the room, but the energy shifted the moment they were gone. The chatter of their plans faded as the door clicked shut behind them, and the room felt quieter, more still.

As you reached for your bag, you heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you. You turned, expecting to see Naoya packing up, but instead, he was still standing near his DJ setup, his eyes locked on the equipment in front of him, his posture tense.

Naoya’s posture was rigid as he leaned against the DJ equipment, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His usual smug expression had been replaced with something sharper, his eyes narrowed as he took you in. His voice cut through the silence, harder than you expected.

“Honestly, it’s hard to take you seriously when you can’t even pull it together for a gig that actually matters. Are you even all in on this band, or is this just some hobby for you?” Each word came out tight, like it was a challenge you weren’t quite ready for.

Your chest tightened. His words stung more than you'd like to admit, especially after everything. You stood there, waiting for him to keep going, unsure if the barb was meant to break through your tough exterior or if it was just his frustration spilling out.

But then, something in his posture shifted. The tension in his shoulders seemed to drop, and he let out a long, exhausted sigh. The harshness melted away as he spoke again, softer this time, his eyes losing that sharpness. "Look... I just wanted this gig to be our big break," he said, his voice quieter, laced with something you hadn't expected: real frustration, but also a hint of desperation. "We’ve been grinding for months to get noticed, trying to make something out of this. You know how important this is to the band, and to me." His gaze softened just a bit, like he was trying to make you understand without saying too much.

He paused, running a hand through his hair, his fingers brushing against his forehead in an almost tired gesture. "I just… don’t want to mess this up. Not now. We can’t afford to fall short, especially now that we’ve got a real shot at making it big."

His eyes flickered briefly, and for a second, you saw that familiar wall of stubbornness break down just enough for you to catch a glimpse of the person behind it—the one who was just as worried about everything falling apart as you were. He exhaled deeply, then added, quieter than before, "I just want this to work. I want the band to finally get the recognition we deserve. That’s all."

You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped, in the slight softness in his gaze—he wasn’t just angry, he was invested. This wasn’t just about you being off tonight. This was about the band, about him putting everything he had into something that had the potential to change everything.

Naoya let the silence settle between you for a moment before he gave a small, almost resigned nod. "Just... don’t make me regret it, alright?" And with that, he turned, not waiting for a response, but his voice had lost its bite. It was still firm, but it carried an unspoken weight—he was hoping you'd understand.

You stood there for a moment, taking in the weight of his words. The sharpness of his earlier jabs still echoed in your chest but hearing the shift in his tone—hearing the real concern beneath his frustration—left you at a loss for words.

You couldn’t deny the pressure. You’d felt it too, the stakes of this gig, how important it was for the band. But his harsh words still stung, especially after everything that had happened. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

After a moment of silence, you let out a slow breath. “I’m not trying to mess this up, Naoya,” you said, your voice steady, though there was a tightness in your chest. "I know how much this means to all of us." You met his gaze, trying to show him you understood, even if you weren’t sure how to fully express it. "I’ll… get it together. You don’t have to worry about that."

You paused, the space between you feeling more fragile now, like the air had thickened with everything unspoken. "I get it, though," you continued, a little softer. "I just... need a minute sometimes." You forced a smile, though it was tight at the edges, trying to lighten the mood a little. "But I’m here. I’m all in, okay?"

Naoya didn’t immediately respond, but you could tell by the slight softening in his eyes that he was hearing you. Maybe he didn’t fully believe it, but the tension had shifted just enough for him to nod, as if satisfied—at least for now.

With a short, almost reluctant glance your way, he walked off, leaving you standing there, feeling the weight of his words lingering in the silence.

You turned off the lights, the dimming of the room a final sign that practice had officially ended. The buzz of lingering tension in the air still clung to you, but you pushed it down as you headed toward the exit. The familiar echo of your footsteps against the floor was the only sound now, and you let it soothe you, clearing your head as best as you could.

You made your way down the stairs slowly, each step carrying the weight of the conversation you’d just had with Naoya. The band’s words, his frustration, the unspoken understanding—it all swirled in your head, a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out. The usual hum of the building felt muted now, the buzzing energy from practice having faded into something heavier, something more uncertain.

As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you spotted him.

Gojo.

He was standing near the door, arms casually crossed, his signature grin stretched wide across his face. The moment his eyes landed on you, the grin only grew brighter, as if your arrival had somehow sparked his whole mood.

"Took you long enough," Gojo called out, his voice teasing but warm. His eyes twinkled with that usual spark of mischief, but there was something else in his gaze, something softer, like he was actually waiting for you—like he’d been expecting this moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips despite the weight of everything that had just happened. There was something undeniably comforting about Gojo’s presence, like he was a small oasis of calm in the middle of all the chaos. His grin, that ever-present playfulness, had a way of easing the tightness in your chest, even if just for a moment.

You offered a tired smile, feeling a small amount of the tension lift at the sound of his voice. “Had a lot to wrap up.”

Gojo pushed off the wall and stretched casually as he started to walk off. “Well, now that the hard part’s over, you’re free to hang out with me. Sound good?”

You shrugged, a teasing smile curling at your lips despite the exhaustion weighing on you. “I guess.”

Gojo stopped in his tracks, feigning offense, his hand clutching his chest dramatically. “I guess?” he repeated, his tone incredulous, “Is that really all I get after I graciously offer to spend my valuable time with you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the exaggerated pout that tugged at his lips, his usual playful confidence now tinged with mock hurt. His act was so over-the-top that it almost felt like a personal insult—except it was hilarious.

“C’mon, you’re lucky I’m even agreeing to hang out with you,” you shot back with a smirk, trying to match his theatrics as you turned to walk beside him.

Gojo’s pout deepened for a moment, but then his grin returned, wide and knowing, like he had won some small, unspoken victory. He waved a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine, I guess I’ll take what I can get. But next time, at least give me a ‘thank you’ or something,” he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckled. “You’re insufferable sometimes, you know that?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you, his playful demeanor as natural as breathing. “But you still love me.”

The words hit you like a sudden wave, and for a moment, everything else around you seemed to fade into the background. You froze, caught off guard. But you still love me. It felt like your heart had skipped a beat, the words coming from him so casual, so light. But in that moment, they resonated deeper than you expected. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your chest, knowing it was just him teasing—but the reality was, it wasn’t entirely untrue. You did love him.

But you couldn’t let that show, not now. Not when he was being his usual playful self. You let out a soft exhale, the moment passing as quickly as it had arrived.

“Love you?” You shot him a look, the teasing smirk back on your face. “Not sure about that. But I guess I’ll let you stick around a little longer.”

Gojo laughed, clearly not picking up on the slight shift in your tone, and nudged your shoulder. “A little longer? I’m wounded,” he said with exaggerated drama. “But I’ll take it. I guess that’s as close to love as I’ll get from you, huh?”

You chuckled, shaking your head, the tightness in your chest still lingering, but you'd buried it under the sarcasm. “That’s about the best you’re going to get.”

You both walked to the convenience store, your footsteps in sync, though your mind felt a little distant. Gojo's usual teasing banter floated around you, but you couldn’t help but feel the familiar knot in your stomach. It wasn’t the first time you’d hung out with him like this, but tonight, everything felt… heavier. You pushed the thought aside.

Inside the store, the familiar warmth and low hum of the lights made you feel grounded. You grabbed a cup of instant noodles and a couple of snacks, trying to focus on something as simple as preparing food. The act of cooking your noodles in the microwave seemed to calm your racing thoughts.

Gojo, naturally, was in a good mood as he picked out a drink and snacks, then casually plopped down next to you. As you set your bowl of noodles in front of you, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulder brushed against yours as he sat—just a little too close for comfort, but you didn’t pull away.

Gojo took a sip of his drink, leaning back casually against his seat, his usual carefree demeanor in full force. The silence between you two was comfortable, yet your mind was all over the place. You were trying to keep your thoughts in check when, out of nowhere, Gojo dropped his usual carefree remark.

“By the way,” he began, his voice casual, almost as if he was talking about the weather, “I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

And for a split second, the world seemed to freeze.

Everything—the soft hum of the convenience store, the clink of distant cans, the faint rustle of plastic bags—vanished into the background. Your breath hitched in your chest, and the next few seconds dragged by like slow-motion, the words echoing in your mind.

Girlfriend?

Your fingers gripped your bowl of noodles so tightly that it almost slipped from your hands. Your vision blurred slightly, and for a heartbeat, you couldn’t remember how to breathe. A heavy weight settled in your chest, like you were sinking into an endless pit.

The memories of last night—the soft hum of the afterparty, the way he’d danced with Mina, their kiss, the way she smiled up at him—came crashing down all at once. It was like someone had grabbed your ribcage and squeezed. You blinked, feeling a tightness in your throat, a flood of heat behind your eyes.

How did things advance so quickly in the span of a night?

You’d seen them together, you knew it was coming, and yet—this? Why Mina?

Why her?

Out of all the people, why had it been her? You’d watched the way he looked at her, the laughter that came so naturally as they danced, the way she’d fit so effortlessly into his orbit. The kiss had been a final confirmation, one you had tried to pretend wasn’t real, but now, hearing the word "girlfriend" spill from his lips—it felt like a punch to the gut.

You thought you understood him, at least enough to know that he wasn’t one for commitment. He’d told you that himself. You’d heard it countless times: "I don’t do relationships. Too much hassle, too much commitment."

But here he was, talking about Mina like it was nothing. Like the man who had sworn off ties, who had never seemed interested in anything beyond his casual flings, had suddenly—and without warning—shifted completely.

It didn’t make sense. You blinked rapidly, fighting the sting behind your eyes. How did this happen? How had his stance on relationships changed so fast, so suddenly, without any hint of it? And why now? Why Mina, of all people?

You felt your grip on the bowl tighten, your knuckles turning white. The ache in your chest wasn’t just about him moving on—it was about the sudden shift, the betrayal of all those times you’d tried to convince yourself he’d eventually come around, that maybe he’d see you as more than just the friend who always tagged along.

And now this. Her. A girl who seemed to get him, who was everything you weren’t: confident, carefree, like she belonged beside him.

For a fleeting moment, you felt that familiar, hollow pang again. What did she have that you didn’t?

The thought lingered, gnawing at you, but you pushed it aside. You couldn’t afford to indulge in that kind of self-pity—not right now. Not in front of him.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. Don’t let him see it. Don’t let him see how badly this hurts.

You swallowed, forcing your chopsticks to meet your noodles again, but it felt like your throat had gone dry. "Mina, right?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, and you instantly regretted it. Your voice was too quiet, too unsure, but you couldn’t take it back.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice the change in your demeanor. He flashed you that usual grin, the one that always made you feel like you were the only person in the room. "Yeah, that’s her," he said, a little more animated now, clearly pleased with himself. "She’s awesome. Thought you’d like her."

You didn’t expect the surge of pain that hit you at his words, but it was sharp and unmistakable. You kept your eyes trained on the noodles in your bowl, afraid they’d betray you if you looked up.

Gojo continued, clearly not picking up on the shift in your mood. “Honestly, she’s just... everything I never knew I needed. She’s got this energy, you know? It’s like—everything about her just makes sense. The way she talks, the way she laughs, the way she looks at me, it’s like she sees me—really sees me, you know?”

You could feel your heart tighten at his words, the little cracks in your chest deepening with every praise. His voice was full of that certain warmth, the one that made everything he said feel like it was wrapped in a soft, golden light. It was a tone you had never heard directed at you.

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting with each word that slipped past Gojo’s lips. He didn’t notice, of course—he was too wrapped up in whatever glow Mina had cast over him.

"It’s like she really gets me, y'know?" Gojo continued, the edge of his smile softening into something more thoughtful. "Like, every little thing I do, she just understands and… and we’re on the same wavelength. No effort. No trying. It’s just… natural."

You blinked, and for a moment, everything went blurry. Your hands tightened around your chopsticks, but you barely noticed.

I get you too, the thought screamed in your head, but you swallowed your voice down your throat, forcing out a smile instead. Why doesn’t that matter?

The words you didn’t say swirled around you, a dull ache in your chest that refused to quiet down. You’d spent years trying to understand him, trying to be the person who got him—the way he looked at the world, the jokes he made, the way his mind worked at a million miles a minute. You’d always been there, hadn’t you?

And yet here he was, saying Mina was the one who got him.

In that split second, the words stung with a cold finality. It wasn’t about the girl. It wasn’t about Mina. It was about how effortlessly Gojo had found someone else to fill that space in his heart that, for so long, you thought maybe—just maybe—was reserved for you.

He continued, unaware of the quiet storm in your mind. "She just gets me, and I don’t have to explain anything. It's so easy with her. I can't even remember the last time something felt so right, you know?"

Your mind went blank for a moment, and you couldn’t stop the thought that broke through: But I get you. I’ve always gotten you.

You blinked and cleared your throat. The sting was still there, but you couldn’t show it. You forced a smile, even though it felt like your lips were glued together. "I’m glad she makes you happy," you said, the words coming out smoother than you felt. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything more.

Gojo’s grin widened. "Yeah, she’s great," he said, leaning back in his seat, completely unaware of the quiet battle going on inside you. “I’m really lucky.”

As he went on, your thoughts circled back to that question—Why her? Why had he found someone who fit so effortlessly into the life you’d imagined you two would share? And why wasn’t it you who had earned the privilege of being the one to "get him"?

For a moment, it felt like the world outside the two of you faded into the background. The convenience store, the noise, the bustling sounds—everything felt far away.

It was just you, Gojo, and the words he couldn’t take back.

You continued to stare at him, your gaze flickering over every little thing—the way his eyes lit up when he talked about her, the almost reverent tone in his voice, the soft, almost dreamy expression that crept onto his face. He wasn’t just saying it; he was feeling it, every word a reflection of something deep inside him, something he couldn’t hide even if he tried.

His smile, usually so playful and confident, was softer now. His eyes were full of that familiar warmth, but there was something new—something brighter. It was a look you had never seen before.

Your breath hitched again, and for a brief moment, it felt like your chest was tightening around you, the world shrinking as his words continued to wash over you, louder and louder.

He was in love.

The thought hit you with a quiet finality, and you swallowed hard, feeling something inside you crack just a little more. You couldn’t look away, even though you wanted to. Even though everything inside you was screaming to pull back, to stop pretending, to let it all show.

But you couldn’t.

Not now.

You could feel the ache swelling in your chest again, but this time, you forced yourself to hold it down, to swallow it back where it belonged. You have to be happy for him. He deserves this. The words rang in your mind, a mantra you tried to hold on to. You had never been selfish with him, not once. And no matter how badly it hurt, no matter how much you wished it was you sitting there beside him, you couldn’t let him see it.

You have to support him.

You blinked, trying to clear the sudden haze in your vision, and when you looked at him again, you made sure your smile was there—genuine, warm, and kind, just like always. The lump in your throat made it difficult, but you forced it down.

"She sounds amazing," you said, your voice steady, even though your heart felt like it was breaking with every word. "I’m really happy for you, Satoru."

He didn’t seem to notice the subtle strain in your tone. His eyes brightened further, the love for Mina practically glowing in them. “Yeah, she really is. I really think you two will get along well once you meet. She’s easy to talk to, you’ll see.”

You nodded, forcing a bit more enthusiasm into your voice. "I’m sure we will."

But as he continued to talk about her, the way his voice softened with affection every time her name left his lips, something inside you cracked again. You tried to push it down. You had to. You had to be supportive, even if it felt like the air was being slowly squeezed out of your lungs.

Because he was happy. That was all that mattered.

And as much as it hurt, you couldn’t be the one to hold him back from that. PART 3

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk #angst #tiiraameesuTOTGA

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